ON FRENCHY

It's will at its finest best. I feigned sickness and it surpassed its superficial motive. I summoned my innards to turn up against her mistress and be sick and it did. Just look at what love can do for yourself. I had a running fever that day when i accompanied my Frenchy to the airport. It was a monday and it was a hellish day for our show but i managed to sneak out and leave the snake pit and just go where my will took me. 

There's something about airports now that ruins my sanity. Airports and airplanes--- the foundation of every dramatic moment that i make. The springboard of what provokes the tearducts. My savior in switchlight acting. My knob for every faucet that make my eyes.

I still managed my restraint. It was a normal talk. The last hug before flight. The last kiss. And the first taxi to be hailed. He opens the door. I look at Paranaque in flashflooded image. I go in. He looks at me and touches the window. I look at him strongly and faucet turning. On cue, the nonchalant taxi driver zooms away. I see his cheeks trembling. I lay silent in the gray interiors of the ubiquitous cab--- flooding. I look from behind. He looks again amidst the hustle of taxis, people, luggages, and excess baggages. I look forward as the driver asks my destination.

I lay silent. He didn't ask again.

I freed my restraint.

I have become Espana and Malabon in that gray cushion.