|picture taken from here|
In the beginning there was the word...
For the love of reading I drank down the words like there's no tomorrow, quenching the thirst I never felt existed.
For the love of scribing I wrote my presence, stroking each alphabet with the fervor of The Marquis writing his oubliette with his own feces.
For the love of life I questioned the death, reasoning to the point of no answer, no evidence: just another question that I swallowed alone, quietly.
For the love of death I chewed the sinful fruit of life where nothing is wrong and every thing's just right (even the Death herself who creeps under your skin, taking sure steps in each of our birthday).
For the love of night I fornicate the day, making her pregnant with curses and blasphemies, sunup to sundown.
For the love of day I wide awake in my sleepless nights, exonerating the ugly, engorging "I" into selfless absolution and wash away the pride when the first adzan strikes.
For the love of art I sought beauties in everything. The happy squeal of a 3-month old baby in her morning bath; her mother's solemn face while suckling; monotonous yet lulling hum of the air conditioner; and pecel with crunchy gendar for my breakfast.
For the love of sunshine I rejoice the rain, squeezing our way in heavy traffic on the bike, with my hands numb from the cold, my heart warm from the feeling.
For the love of rain I praise the sunshine, hoping it won't blind nor stab anyone's back, those who have to be outside by choice--with you among them all.
And that's how I remember you: the key that led me to all doors, the ever giving hands, the always listening ears, the forever smiling lips, the constantly soothing voice, the restlessly sparkling eyes, the ceaselessly thinking mind...
Don't you think it's funny how the greatest accident on universe created such complex creature like us? Oh, the cosmic joke!
ps. and yes, I drool through my closing eyes when I sleep, just like you did.