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OMG, he’s reading my diary

 

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That’s it. I’m utterly crushed.

There’s the chili oyster recipe, my secret aphrodisiac appetizer to lure him to bed.  Then there’s a list of cut-out lingeries from magazines I read, since I still couldn’t decide which to pick for our first night. I also thought about which band to play to when we do it – Earth, Wind & Fire or The Isley Brothers? No, I should just go with Barry White instead. But then I love Mr. White too much to choose whichtrack to put on. And the rest of it are private entries, about him. Well, the whole thing is about him. My strangest obsession and my wildest imaginations, even after all these years we’re dating. (Well, you see, I celibate).

“Wow, you never told me you’re one wild girl,” he goofed on me.

Whatever,” I shrugged.

“What’s ‘sexcited’?”

“That’s my slang for promiscuous,” Mumbling my words.

He puts away the book on that page written about the time he first kissed me, and I was sexcited. Then he looks at me with that goofy smile he always had. I walked him to the door but he didn’t move. He didn’t want to leave. We’re already late for the dinner.

And guess what happens to a newlywed in the bedroom.


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Muchaluva,
Stace
 

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Never lose sight

 

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Should stars fall down on you, catch them one by one. You want to grab hold of them as each one is ingrained with magic (and other wonderful things). Seal them safely in your pocket wherever you go, protect them with your firm hands, and when you come home, put them in a container. Every time you reach to your container, you’ll be counting your blessings. So how do you spot these stars? They’re everywhere, in every moment – it’s ever-present. You must use your vision. Don’t rely on the things you see and hear. Don’t answer every knock on your door, because once reality sets in, you can’t play pretend anymore. No more containers of hope, no more stars falling, and life’s just not that fun anymore.

 

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Muchaluva,
Stace
 

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Iridesce

PROSE

February 2012

 

 

I was just riding my bike around the corner when I saw the pretty pearl necklace on display. The little pearls behind the glass window so iridescent, they shone through like little diamonds dancing in a night sky. I almost heard glass breaking through the more I glued my nose on the window, so I thought perhaps if I stop by everyday, the glass will shatter every so often that one day the pearls shall breakaway in the skies flying free like a bird.

I became obsessed about it. I have my dinner nearby the corner street every night, watching over it with an eagle eye. Still, I know the six-digit price I have to pay in order to stop this. In this dark place I am in my life, these pearls became my precious gem. Then I began to feel that stiff coldness in the air.

It’s simple, really. They changed the pearl necklace into real diamonds. Now I feel the coldness in my heart, a hollow heart that I can no longer follow.

It’s barely there, you see; so elusive, so obscure – just like the day you waved goodbye to me forever, and all the days I’ve been through since then without you, the light of my life.

 

 

 
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Muchaluva,
Stace