The inspiration

They say, or at leadt i claim it to be new york city. Or manila. Or that island paradise. But can i just write for the record it is not any of them.

If it wasn't the ocean, wasn't geeses...oh you, it's always you....

And yeah maybe this is the real ending of hollywood dreams. Hollywood is dead.

Of random smiles and tiny heartaches. Of watching orion and imAgining the possibilities. Of breathing the same air. It has been ten years. Am older, maybe less naive, and wiser. And in a meteor garden kind of way, like how it spirals off course, i have now landed, dust flying all over, smokescreens. A life without you is actually possible.

Once upon a time, there was a me that dared to dream pipe dreams.

That feeling still gets to me once in a while. More so during days like these.

Are you not inspired? He asks. And i said no.

And i could fully remember the years i was.

Coming here, all the crazy love songs, all the senseless going outs, it was all about you.

This doesn't make sense, but only to a few who knows the character in this long drawn out drama. I let you go, why do i keep on asking why.... This stage of not knowing and trusting big J is hard, but the love of my human life could not get in the way with the love of my eternal life.

He said, give me your heart and give me your dreams. J was my heart and my dream. I dared to imagine a life without him, and here i am... In alabama...Ironic. But each day, small j becomes more and more a memory of a time when i was inspired.

And maybe that should not be the case.

Maybe i should look within to be inspired again.

To pick up the pen and write again.

To pick up the pencil and draw again.

To take that brush and paint again.

Because, in spite of loved lost, i was, and still am, and will be loved.