I've had the privilege to meet an amazing woman through this blog. She's a wonderful writer and a very wonderful woman who has taught me how to "glomp" on MSN.

I've gotten another privilege to read her work and I have twisted her arm to allow me to post it here.

Ladies and Gents, I present Schelz Paul:

He knows

Looking down at her he knows, knows as she stands in front of him, underneath him with her head tilted upwards that if he kisses her it will never end, her eyes are closed tight and she’s gripping his grey tee.

And he knows, knows how much she loves him, her loud heart beat, her quickened breathing and the slight sweat he notes beading her forehead tells him so, but if he ever tells her she makes him ache it will never end.

He knows he loves her back, he knows he loved her so damn much that it hurt once and still does, he loves her now, again, loves her fiercely, infinitely and whole-heartedly. He’s still watching her wait for him, teeth grazing nervously over her bottom lip, he swallows hard and clams his teeth together; he can’t say it back, he’s doing it for both of them. If he admits it to her, if he admits to himself, it will never end.

He knows; knows that he’s not as strong as before. He fights a cold war, a battle within not to touch her back, not to like the feel of her skin beneath his but she craves it and he craves the craving of him but if he allows himself to crave her back, it will never end.

He knows she’ll be the death of him, he knows, he can’t take the colour of her eyes; he falls right through them into her darkness and can’t make his way back to the light without hurting her. Tears escape her eyes, wetting her eyelashes as they cascade down her face but he prays she keeps them shut, because if he falls it will never end.

He knows; knows that if she opens her mouth he’ll fall.

He knows; knows that if words escape them, broken words, he’ll fall hard.

He knows; knows that if she asks him the question he won’t recover as fast.

He knows; knows that if he doesn’t walk now, it may never end.

She sighs and opens her eyes and his heart stops, he wants to scream at her for being so selfish, for making him consume her, fall for her, devour her, crave her and love her until he loses breath. He wants to yell at her for stealing his emotions from him, for taking everything and never giving the same amount back, nothing but her love. It’s not enough.

Her orangey brown eyes are torturously dewy and he melts.

Now he knows, knows that she’s going to defeat him.

“Don’t you love you me anymore?” She cries, wiping the snot from her nose with her sleeve.

He hates that he loves her, he loves that he hates that he loves her, it’s the way they work. Without a spoken word, he cups the back of her neck and kisses her so hard that it hurts; he can’t say it back but as she giggles joyously into his mouth he knows, knows that she’s got what she wanted.

She’ll never let him go, and he thinks he might not want her to.

On nights like these
I want to lie
on the unmade bed
right next to you
not moving
not sleeping
but just breathing you
seeing you
touching you
knowing you.

On nights like these
I wish I could
drown in the
bright fluid sound
of your laughter
A million
tiny deaths
are always sweetest
by your hand.

On nights like these
I curse the sun
for it will come
and take you away
and you both leave me
with a cruel uncertainty
of your return

On nights like these
we dance the tango
between "when"
and "if"
and I laugh
as you step on my toes.

On nights like these
you say my name
like it's important
like it's enough
like it means something
like it means everything
But I need you
to tell me more.

On nights like these
when you say "hello"
it actually means
"goodbye"

Oh my freaking lord. At first glance, you'd think he's the big brother of the cute baby but he's actually the father. THE father and the boy is just 13.

I died. I died after reading this. This is the stuff that parents' nightmares are made of.

Children should be children and not parents, especially at this age! 13!!! Jesus!

Read the entire article here. I have to lie down now and think about ways I can talk to my kids about safe sex.

This song has been my LSS for three days now. I love the lyrics and the melody. Even the singer's voice is so haunting.

breakeven songs
Download free music | Download free mp3

Almost everyone knows my morbid fear of mascots and clowns. I hate them with a fury. It's not fear per se, I just don't like them and find no use for them. They're not even amusing.

I dislike frogs and toads. They're slimy and cold and toads give you warts.

I dislike crowds. I dislike closed spaces. I hate crowds in closed quarters.

I distrust compliments. I fear I may accept them one day.

I am deathly afraid that I can be more jaded and mistrusting and conflicting that I already am.

***

People must think I'm insane. I don't blame them. If I were looking at myself from another POV, I'd say I'm pretty screwed up - like two fries short of a happy meal screwed up. I'd think Fate and Destiny and the Powers That Be must have a sick sense of humor or have majorly fucked up the paperwork when they decided to give me children.

I don't deserve happiness. I don't deserve any positivity. I'm so afraid that one day I'd want them and even believe that I deserve them.

Fear isn't irrational, it's personal. And these fears are mine.

She knew it wouldn't be anything else but what it is, yet that didn't stop her from wishing just a little. The wishing didn't stop the stinging tears from grazing her plain sad face. Tears are the perfect accessory to go with the broken heart and fractured soul he gave her.

She doesn't love by halves. She doesn't do anything by halves. Every emotion, every action was done with full power and passion - anger, frustration, affection, hate and love - all unleashed with extreme intensity.

Each of them had a secret weapon; something they'd pull out only for extreme cases of the direst emergencies. She had her eyes and her patented cat like stretch that makes her every muscle taut and on display. He teases with the curve of his lips. He could charm the birds out of the sky if he chose to, and if he really wanted to, he could charm Jesus off his cross.

She tasted like the best parts of Summer sprinkled with Christmas. He tasted like life when life was good. He could pluck surprises from thin air just like she could pluck sighs and moans from him with just a brush of her fingers. Her body language is so eloquent and in it, she's very articulate.

They'd search for God in each others' arms. His pretty mouth frames the words and phrases that disposes of her faith in herself. His hands and lips on her skin were like Psalms and angelic choir. He was her religion and she was nothing but devout.

But when the sun claimed the sky, she knew her faith would be tested. He'd leave before she woke, before the sheets got cold, before she could even register that he was there.

All she could do was patiently wait. Wait, even if it was forever. Forever's a long time to be alone but not enough to be together.

She always found herself in the same kind of place, sitting in a booth where the plastic seats used to be a darker color and without any cracks. The plastic sign hangs cracked and says "Op'n" instead of beckoning passersby to come in.

She always ended up in one of these places. She didn't know why, but for some reason, it made her comfortable - safe even. The noise of the place lulled her into some semblance of security: it was the waitress looking bored, sighing her weary away; the cooks at back, laughing at some sexist joke; the after party kids coming to sober up before they got home and got grounded for being out way past their curfew. It was constant, never changing and always the same. It was such a comfort because it's not like her life right now - well, if you count that phone call. That phone call is probably the only thing that's constant in her world right now.

It's not that she doesn't have a life, it's just centered around making herself available for him when he needs her. That requires her to be awake when the moon is high in the sky. She waits for his call and it always comes in like clockwork.

***

The first time was awkward, as all first times are. He called and said he was at some two bit bar that has seen better days and better customers. It was full of noisy angry customers and even angrier drunks. Of course, it was natural for him to fall under the angry drunk category.

She took him by the sleeve of his jacket after paying for his exorbitant tab and dragged him to the car. He was breathing vapors and expletives. She let out a low growl, something about "common sense", "cirrhosis", "displaced" and "neanderthal" and other impressively naughty words; sounding cultured and restrained mixed in with her presumably ten dollar jargon that would make a seasoned whore blush.

There, in the safety of his hotel room, he yelled at her, blamed her for his situation, accused her of manipulating him and not caring enough to be honest with him. He cursed her and all she did was to stand there and to take it all in. He ranted until he was tired and passed out. She quietly fixed the mess that used to be called a man, cleaned up and stayed for a while until she was sure he was breathing normally and won't choke on his own vomit.

The next time it happened, he was in a better mood. He called her and politely asked her to pick him up from another bar. He climbed in the passenger seat and didn't say anything but she knew he was two shots away from being 80 proof. She drove him home and he even managed to mumble a 'thank you' before he closed the door.

***

This time, he called from his house, asking her to come over. She drove a little slowly, not really in a hurry to see what she'd have to clean up after. She had to contain her shock when he opened the door to let her in. He was just inebriated but was coherent. He let her in and she jested that he might even let her drink with him. He smiled and downed three fingers of his neat scotch.

"Are you going to let me see the entire process and not just the end result tonight?"

He said nothing and just smiled bitterly. She let out a tired sigh. "Might as well get the coffee started..."

"Sit with me." It's even surprising to hear that softness to his voice, almost like he was pleading. She follows like an obedient puppy.

There is violence in silence, and whatever isn't said between them is bound to come out and will hit them at a velocity that will make them regret not saying anything, thus making them bleed - making their heart bleed. She finally spoke, her words were soft but firm.

"I had to kill her. She was a job. She was making you weak. I had to do my job."

"What if I was the job? Would you have done your job?"

"I don't know..."

"Would you?!"

"I DON'T KNOW!" She stood up and prepared to take her leave when his hand wrapped itself around her wrist.

"Do you know why I'm drinking myself half to death almost every night? Do you have any idea why?"

"I get it okay? You drink to forget. You want to forget the pain. You want to forget that you miss her and you want to forget that you hate me."

"You don't know anything..." He pulls her dangerously close. "I drink to forget that I feel happy that she's gone. I drink so I can easily accuse you of making me feel miserable when the truth is, I feel relieved and grateful that you did what I couldn't do. I drink to have an excuse to have you near, to have you to touch me because that's the only time you do."

He then grabs the back of her neck and kisses her. She's too shocked to respond so he takes this opportunity to deepen the kiss. That's when she pushes him away. She instantly puts up her tough bitch persona.

"You drink so you'll have an excuse to kiss me? That's so fucking twisted even for you. What's next, you drink so you can fuck me without regretting it? You sure know how to sweep a woman off her feet."

He looks at her with hurt in his eyes. She does not back down. "C'mon Romeo...You've had too much moonshine. Time for bed"

***

She gets him under the covers without a fight. He closes her eyes and says a sincere word of gratitude. It's then and there that she has her epiphany.

She wanted that kiss. She wanted him to kiss her, to hold her, to screw her, to fuck her and to make love to her. She wanted it all but he was drunk and that made all the difference.

She wanted that possibility - love, laughter and maybe even happiness. But happiness wasn't available for people like her. Monsters and murderers aren't allowed to be happy.

So, as she walked away from that broken sleeping man, with his drunken whispers and scotch flavored kisses trailing behind her, she thinks. Maybe if the circumstances were different she could be happy.

Maybe even with him.

Disclaimers aside, I'm truly not completely insane - I am just a wee bit crazy.

I believe I can handle most situations with proper class and calm. There are times when I act a bit out of character just for a laugh or two. I've never been written up as a nut job, the most I've had as a label is "slightly pickled and a few notches above crazy cool".

I, however, have a few psycho moments especially when a certain very sensitive nerve is hit.

***

I've long told anyone who'd care to listen that I have accepted how I look. I know I'm not the prettiest woman in the room nor did I win any consolation prize in a beauty contest. I absolutely understand the standards of beauty and how I could never come near it even with an expendable arm 70 feet long.

The reason I say this is not to get any kind of patronizing pity. It's for my own benefit. The more I accept it and take it as truth, the stronger I get against any kind of insult thrown my way. I feel better knowing this - I feel better knowing that what anyone could ever say about me isn't anything new to me.

What I hate and what gets to me (which I don't understand how, being a smart bitch and all) is when people exert so much effort to convince me that I am beautiful, that I am attractive and then, right when I'm in the throes of believing everything stated, tells me that I'm really not all that pretty. That's just plain cruel...

***

I know what I am. I know what I can do. I know what I look like. I know what I can bring to the table. I shouldn't need anyone else to tell me otherwise. I believed them because I thought they were sincere. I believed them because they were trying so hard to make me feel that what they were saying was true.

The best part of believe is the LIE.

***

I'm a smart and funny woman. I am charming and I have talent. I'm creative and resilient.

You fuckers are the ugly ones.

Karma is a bitch. I wouldn't wish what you did to me on you, but if it does come, I'll be there - front row with popcorn and a coke.

For those who are really close to me, they know that I have this freaky gift.

I see scenes from a person's life -past, recent past, near future and way into the future. I can't explain it but I just see it. The people who have subjected themselves to this have scoffed at me and when it came true, converted.

***

I have predicted my sons entrance into this godforsaken world. I woke up one night and immediately woke my husband up to tell him that we were having twin sons. I described our sons accurately to him, down to the last mole. He thought it was just a very vivid dream. Hah! When the boys were born, he was freaked out - happy but freaked out.

***

I have told people things and seen certain things. However, I absolutely hate it when I have to see someone's death.

Anything but that, please. Death makes me depressed. Add to that the fact that I know of this person's death makes it more complicated.

***

Why couldn't I have had the gift of fashion?

Heath Ledger was found dead in his apartment today. Police suspect an overdose of pills as they were found on his person and around his person.

That sucks. He was one of the more promising and reputable actors of our generation. He's in he new Batman film and plays a very very scary Joker.

Rest in Peace man.

***

I need to put out a disclaimer in my previous post. I don' have issues with all foreigners. I like some of them and I even have some friends who are not of Filipino descent. I just hate the majority of them who act so bossy and self-centered.

We're cool Shane, Jason, Julia, Rick, Marshall, Larissa and Jean.

"I am alone in a hotel room tonight
I squeeze the sky out
but there's not a star appears
begin my studies with this paper and this pencil
and I'm working through the grammar of my fears..."

I love this line from the song "Language or the kiss" by the Indigo girls. I'm starting to think that they've made a pact with some devil to have that enviable gift of writing songs.

Literally, this is so me right now - well, it has been me for the past week.

***

The funny thing is, I've been known to be independent and I have the tendency to do things on my own. However, I've never felt like I was alone until now.

***

I felt this way when I was in Australia. I succumbed to depression, and allowed myself to be dragged to the cesspools of sorrow.

I feel like this now, but you have to add a few other ingredients to the mix - like confusion, frustration, aggravation and absolution.

***

I know this isn't like Australia. I know that this time around, I don't have angry white people planning their next witch hunt against me. I know that I have someone to talk to when I need to. I know that I'm coming back to something so beautiful that I welcome the longing and anticipation.

My kids will be tortured with lots of hugs and sloppy kisses. My hubby will...well, you know...

I still have a silver lining. I can see it shining.

This news article here made me feel so depressed. An 11 year commits suicide by hanging herself with a nylon rope. She was so poor that she could not even go to school because her family didn't have enough for transportation fare.

We just finished doing the whole cultural integration seminar and there are a lot of things that make the Filipino great, but we've got our skeletons as well. I am in shock seeing the way people here are so wasteful. They throw out food and stuff without a second thought and it pains me to see that because these things can make an entire family in the Philippines happy.

This is disturbing. We should be able to do something for everyone.

***

In fact, I encourage you, readers and all, to go and do it now. PAY IT FORWARD! Don't think about it, don't even blink, trust your gut and go and do something to help someone out.

Children should not be depressed. Children should enjoy being children.

Make it your mission to help someone out.

Know that when you do, you are saving someone - a child, adult or any human being - from killing herself.

I'm not excited about my upcoming trip. Others think that it's such a cool thing to do - to be sent for training in another country with all the expenses paid. However, I'm honestly and truly torn.

I don't want to go because I'm not even gone and yet I miss my family terribly.

I don't know how I'll get by without my hubby's hugs and kisses. I think I'll be spending so much in overseas calls.

I don't know how I'd go through each day without having to kiss my children - smelly feet, drool and all.

***

But I'm doing this for them.

****

Happy birthday Brew! I miss you too man.

Most of the people who know me, and I mean really know me, have initially considered me to be insane.

I will not contest nor deny this. I do have a facade that I have to put up before I let you in the real me. It's something like - if my attitude right now does not faze you, then I don't have to worry about how you will react when you find out about the real me.

I don't like who I really am. To tell you the truth, I'm an insecure, frightened, jaded little girl. I get my strength from my family - my husband who adores me and has never judged me (albeit a few arguments here and there), my children, my mother, my nanie and my very very few friends. I can't afford to let anyone see my true persona. I can't have my fragile spirit be broken.

I never found the need to judge anyone anymore, ever since I had that epiphany about my father. I don't have to pass judgment because I don't want to be judged. I may not understand a few things and a few concepts here and there but I never want to give out a final decision.

I'd rather treat everything like a show on Tivo. I'll just erase and rewind everything.

I haven't been writing lately. Been caught up with work and damage control for the fucked up job the other girl did. Now, we have to suffer for it.

***

Change is a tricky thing. I've always been adverse to change. Somehow, I hate the feeling of being thrown around in a box; I hate having to check for my vitals to see if I've survived only to go through the entire process again.

However, I do acknowledge that there needs to be change. I can change, just let me do it in my own terms.

***

I got my heart broken this week. I felt betrayed and I felt that I was judged.

This is the reason why I don't have a lot of friends - and I mean friends in the truest sense of the word. Once I feel that I've been betrayed I can't be held responsible for the chaos that will ensue.

Maybe I am a difficult person to be around with. I'm great with all the "fun" stuff but when it comes down to the nitty gritty of it all, I'm the least likely person anyone can come to.

I can roll with that. People are difficult, that's why there are bombs out there cults that declare holy war whilst the other side does so too. Which makes you wonder which deity truly exists and rules the world.

***

I just don't want to be kicked in the head when I'm down for the count.

That's just not fair.

We value truth, we even crave for it. Personally, I am a huge fan of the raw and naked truth. I'm never one to strip it nor to change it. I like truth because it's such a seductive weapon. Everyone wants the truth but they never know what to do with it when they have it.

Why do people lie? Maybe they were trying to overcompensate, maybe they were in a tight spot or unusual predicament, or maybe, they just want attention. I'm not saying I don't lie. I'd be fucked with a chainsaw if I said I never lied. I played hookey a lot of times, calling in sick when I just want to laze around the house. I lied my way out of a gadawful date. I lied to my mom when I just wanted to stay in my then boyfriend's apartment. We all lie. It's a fact.

So, is it still a lie when you are being truthful about the lie? If I share a lie to a friend, am I lying to my friend or am I lying to myself? Am I lying at all?

***

But then, why lie to me? I''m not exactly known for my morals or for catholic approved advice. If you tell me you've been fucking a married man, I'd ask you first if he's any good. Then I'd tell you to make sure your ass doesn't get caught and then I'd tell you to make sure this is what you want because there will be a lot of complications and you should be ready for them. I'd tell you that I will never tell you "I told you so" but will be there when you need me.

That's not patronizing nor is it sickeningly upright. You heard the truth and I gave you what you wanted and needed to hear. So why the fuck did you have to lie? To me? You could've just told me. You know I never judge.

***

My definition of friends are those that can tell me everything. I want to know how and when to protect you. I can't protect you if you leave me out there in the open for all the sharks to feast on.

I don't have a lot of friends. I can count them using one hand. I can't trust you if can't trust me.

I never judged you. Why are you judging me now?

I miss Brewski. I feel like my evil side is slowly being turned into good. I don't like that. I'm built for evil, blood and gore not rainbows, butterflies and unicorns. Ugh.

Just recently, I actually felt like shit when I was a bit rude to my grandmother. This is the back story: My grandmother has 7 kids and 4 of them are from different men. My nanie, mom, Tito Joy and Tita Kuks are the ones that have the same set of parents. My alcoholic uncle is still undetermined. The other aunt - the one who breeds like a rabbit - is from another one and the youngest uncle is from another one. It seems that auntie-breeds-like-a-rabbit is the heir apparent to my grandmother's throne.

Auntie-breeds-like-a-rabbit and I had this big fight and falling out sometime 2003. I thought she was schmoozing too much money from my mother and she thought I was a bitch. We were both right. So I call her out and tell her to go to hell and we've never spoken since. Her kids, however, do speak to me when they need money.

Wonderful.

Anyway, one of her daughters decide to go to Baguio to work and asks for some money from my mother. Mother gives it to her, of course and I don't say anything because I thought I'd give her the money too, so long as she stays in Baguio for good. Now, a week later, she comes by and asks for more money because she tells us that she had to give the previous money to auntie-breeds-like-a-rabbit (her mother) because her siblings needed it. Mother gives her money AGAIN. Then, another week later, I get a call from my grandmother and she tells me that same kid needs money again for some fucking paper.

I call my mother and tell her about the call. She tells me that she already gave money and that my aunt (older sister of mother) gave her money too. Aha! Interesting...

Grandmother calls again and this was how the conversation went:

"Tumawag ka daw? Nasa banyo kasi ako eh" (You called? I was in the bathroom)

"Opo. Sabi ni mommy binigyan na daw po siya ng pera. Binigyan din daw siya ni nanie. Nung isang linggo po, pumunta sya dito para humingi ng pera at binigyan siya ni mommy. Nung isang linggo bago nun, binigyan na din po siya" (Mother told me that she already gave her money. Nanie even gave her money too. Last week and the week before that, she had money that came from my mother as well)

"Ay ganun? Kasi kailangan daw niya para sa papeles niya eh" (Oh, is that so? But she needs it for her papers)

"Eh bakit di na lang po siya humingi sa nanay niya at di sa nanay ko?" (Well, why doesn't she ask her mother for money instead of mine?)

"Maliit lang kasi sweldo ng nanay niya eh" (Her mother's salary isn't enough)

"Eh bakit kasi nag anak ng ganun kadami? D ba niya naisip yun? Eh ako nga tatlo lang anak ko eh hirap na hirap na ako. Tapos kukunan niyo pa ng pera ang nanay ko na sana ay para sa mga apo niya, para sa akin!" (Well why the hell did she breed like a rabbit? I have three kids and I already feel the strain. Then you go ask for money from my mother when she could have very well used that money on her grandchildren!)

I immediately regretted saying that. She fell silent and I had to make a save.

"Lola, sana po naiintindiihan ninyo na wala akong trabaho ngayon. May mga problema din ang nanay ko sa pera. Marami din kaming utang na babayaran. Sana naiintindihan ninyo yun" (Grandma, I hope you can understand the situation. I'm out of a job and we also have bills to pay. We have money issues too. I hope you can understand that.)

"Oo. Sige na." (Yes. Alright)

And she puts down the phone.

***

You know what's worse than having a conscience? Having one that comes a little too late.

***

I also hate it when my friends fight. I want all of my friends to be ok.

I'm sure it was just a silly misunderstanding. One was hurt, the other reacted too much. I wish they could just sit down and talk about it.

***

I hate being in between jobs.
I hate being in between friends.
I hate being stuck in between sanity and a bottle of L-dopa

I hate being in between.

I've been having a bad hair month. It's not funny anymore.

When it was still at a significant length, it wouldn't stay put. I tried creams, tonics, hair shit and everything else and still, it was as stubborn as a mule on an uphill walk with 50 tons on its back.

I cut it short, hoping that it will at least be more manageable but it was worse. It went on all directions, resembling a beaten wire brush. I had it straightened, rebonded, oiled and deep conditioned but still no hope.

I'm this close to having it ll shaven off.

You are my hair. Follow me!!

****

I had a meeting with the great Pam Miras and I'm starring in her next film. AYELAVIT!!

I can't say much though, only that I believe this film will make my mark as a thespian.

****

I'm also having episodes of depression. And trust me, this is not for the character, although now I will use it for that purpose.

I think I'm getting hormonal. It could be early menopause, or it could be that I'm slowly going insane. Either way, I'm screwed.

****

It's like I'm back in high school.

Why couldn't it feel like I'm back in college.

At least then, I was high or drunk, sometimes high and drunk.

****

Pakshet...

She's been a non-practicing Catholic for years now. The last time she went to church was when her mother died. She's declared herself to be an agnostic. How ironic that she finds herself murmuring a prayer.

"Our father, who art in heaven..."

His hands graze her neck, as he brushes away her hair - exposing her nape. His breath, brushes her skin, making her shiver. Lips touch her shoulder and the hand finds some other place in her body that that mouth is neglecting. He says her name - his voice is deep, smokey, clear and urgent.

"Hallowed be thy name..."

She doesn't move. Stilled by emotions she can't control, they're battling with her logical self. She lets out a soft guttural moan. He doesn't miss that sound - the way it echoes hunger, want and need that she's trying to suppress. It spurs him on. He knows she needs to be satiated.

She had good intentions coming here. She wanted to know if he's OK - if he's not destroying himself.

"Why are you here?" he asks, never missing a beat in his current task. "Tell me." his tone more urgent.

"Truthfully?"

"Candor is appreciated."

"I wanted to make sure you were OK."

"You've seen. Why are you still here?"

"I don't know..."

"Hmmm..."

"Thy kingdom come..."

Every movement was deliberate, every touch had a purpose. She was his prey - helpless though unbound. Perhaps the prayers she was whispering was a prayer to the god.saint.saviour that saves woman like her; like her in this situation. Maybe the gods couldn't hear her. Maybe she should pray louder, but she doesn't.

"God can't hear you."

"Thy will be done..."

He continues to ravish her but never where she can see. He attacker her back (if you call this attacking). He takes her cardigan off and she blindly obliges through she feels more vulnerable. He trails hot, wet kisses on her shoulder.

"All my riches for a kiss on your shoulder..."

"They kingdom come..."

"You've got it wrong. It's thy kingdom come and thy will be done."

"You're not Catholic"

"I know the prayer, said it a lot of times"

He pulls her spaghetti strapped blouse down to her waist. He kisses the trail on her back - the trail of her back bone. He flicks the base with his tongue. She lets out a surprised gasp which makes him smile. His hands leave her shoulders and wrap around her waist while he kisses her nape.

"It's never over..."

"On earth as it is in heaven..."

"Tell me the truth..."

"Truth is overrated."

"You don't even know what truth I want from you..."

"Lies are better. They don't hurt."

"The truth shall set you free"

"I like to be caged."

"That you do. And that you are. Tell me."

His fingers grip her shoulders and she knows it's going to bruise.

"Give us this day our daily bread..."

He nips her earlobe and presses a kiss on her ear. He runs his hands through her hair. She closes her eyes tightly and bites the inside of her cheek.

"You shouldn't have come. You should've just left me be..."

"Is that so?"

"It is so."

"Told you lies are better. Liar"

He lets out a half snorted laugh.

"Forgive us our sins..."

"As we forgive those who have sinned against us..."

He stops and turns her around. He now sees her. Her hair disheveled and eyes brimming with held back tears. She sees him. Eyes hollow, and his face gaunt. He cocks his head to the side.

"Is this why you've come? To be forgiven?"

She doesn't answer but lets the tears fall. He wipes away the offending saline and cups her cheek.

"I've forgiven you. Long before you've sinned. I can forgive you anything."

"Even this? Even though I..."

He silences her with a kiss. She feels soft pliant lips on hers.

"Yes. Even this."

It was a while before he broke the kiss. Lips wet with spit and tears.

"I have to bring you in."

"I know." He sighs.

She never moves though. She just looks at him as she pulls out her phone from her back pocket.

"I've got the subject in custody. Request for back-up. Call for a bus, subject is shot."

"I'm not hurt."

"You will be."

She then pulls out a gun from her holster and shoots him.

This current phase of a situation is waning, but that's actually a good thing. Your instinct might be to hold onto the familiar, but you should let go graciously. You'll find that this new phase goes more smoothly.

I read this today after I had a "talk" with my boss. As you guys know, or don't know, I've handed in my resignation 2 weeks ago. I'm actually still here, holding on to something I'm used to.

The "talk" was not that horrible. I completely understand it. However, I got the slightest feeling that she was also trying to tell me to let go.

Truth be told, I'm scared to let go. I don't want to. It's like getting used to misery and when happiness comes in, you think it's the black plague and won't have anything to do with it.

So, maybe it's time. I've got to let go.