I'm pallid tonight; dry as a desert during summer. An incessant sharp pain, sporadically followed by a blunt one constantly occurs inside my head. The instance I try to think of what to make, the untamed migraine halts my whimsical journey inside my own vagary. I am limited by the ceaseless tapping of an attention-deficit headache. Aggravated by the eye-squinting dazzle of the screen I have befriended for the past few months. It has been my closest ally during nights where the chill of the rain-supervened wind whistles in desperation. It has been the accessory to my procrastinating crimes, my contriving buddy during which I do what I do best when I am alone. But during this night, its blinding light forsook our contrivance, played Judas on our collaborative contract. And now all it has done thus far tonight is exacerbate my head-banging ordeal.

For countdown number two, I’d just be posting a poem I have written for her; the first poem I have haphazardly made for her. It’s not really worth aggrandizing, but it is after all, all I could do for her. I hope by merely reposting this, I wouldn’t degrade its worth. It happens to coincide with the theme of what I was hoping to accomplish. For number 2: the 4th thing I admired about her: her relentless sweetness where even my sweet tooth could not get enough of. I have been insatiably craving for her sweetness every day. She never fails to conjure little shivers to my arrector pili muscles and induces rare goosebumps to me. I want her to know that I want her to continue to be sweet. She’s divinely irresistible when she is. Not that I can resist her when she’s not, because I still can’t. I just can’t.

I’m happy you got to spend your birthday with me. Selfish as it may sound, I am hoping that you did enjoy as much as I enjoyed too. I only got one wish for you: More birthdays with me! =] Here’s the poem. I'll be living my life with you, will you live yours with me? I’m yours now! Ask me tomorrow if I still am. =]

I lie awake
on a rainy dawn
where hours ebb
as long as age.
And I thought of how
my love for you
got conceived.

Was it your hair?
Falling freely with gravity.
Who shines in almond
as light greets its
aromatic surface.
Whose scent placates
the toil of temper.
It mimics the residual aroma
of wherever we've gone;
reminding me of the places
we simply enjoyed.

Was it your eyes?
Who make servants
of the unbendable.
Sparkling in little shames
and emanating secret joys.
I can stare at them,
and they make cotton
out of my igneous armor.

Was it the tone of your voice?
Who combines compatible notes
and plays the song of joy.
If there'd be such one,
it would be that.
Who ceaselessly force a smile
on my face.
I ceaselessly wait
to have to hear it again.

Was it your exuberant youth?
Who gave a new vitality
in my once tedium life.
Who made young
an arthritic fellow,
and whose knees bend
only from your stare.

The rain has fallen again.
A prologue to a new season.
I fell in love during summer
That rain could not help me
find the reason.

I, here
lying half-awake.
About to enter slumber.
I fell in love with you first
during the summer.