Ruth V. Mostrales
I am finding ways to understand myself in relation to you. I think it is a futile task because I shouldn’t touch upon the subject. I always write concerning the things that matter. I saw you today, again.
In the whirlpool of events where our meeting is neatly placed, I cannot tell what came first — admiration or fate. I struggle to remember his face now. You’re a mainstay in my thoughtless fixation on the horizon.
Things are whirring past, and now around me. I cannot stop them or change their course. My feet is on the ground yet my thoughts wander on the possibility, the perhaps — the possibility of dear fate merging with love, and you in this whirlpool.
7:44 PM, February 9, 2010