The Mud Pie Mojo stirs some memories when we drop by in an ice cream shop named Coldstone. Yes, it is cold but even with a heart of stone, glancing at their signature creations, suddenly I remember my first lick and that unforgettable obsession. The banana flavored ice cream with chocolate chips, reminding me of that devotion and its rendezvous illusion.
Somehow life’s memories replicate my ice cream fantasies. So I lick it slow then lick it fast….because I know it might not last.
“Where do I begin,” (that famous line from a familiar song) to tell a story where I’ve been. Been somewhere, anywhere, nope, truthfully nowhere.
Now I don’t know how to start. They say time heals all wounds, and if missing something is a wound, and starting all over again is a form of healing then let me have a thousand scars for although I’m not a masochist, I welcome the pain of waiting. And if somehow one can’t understand what I’m conveying, it’s okay not to be understood once in a while. Why would I expect others to understand if I, myself don’t understand where I’ve been, eventhough I always claimed I know where I’m heading.
Subject verb agreement, punctuation errors and a lot of grammatical lapses. I am not an English writer and it does not pain me when I tender my resignation letter and realized that he’s not reading my letter. Yes, he is not hearing me, he is looking at my letter telling me how in the world can I write a resignation letter with misspelled words and grammatical lapses. That deceitful feeling of finally getting even by giving him a hard time deciphering what I meant when I said I’m leaving. Or is it just the real me when I blabber with incongruent statements because truthfully I am a weird eccentric person who is not good in saying goodbye.
So I closed the door and walked away…. But in no time I’m back in his arms, restartng what could have been, what might have been, what should have been and all those in betweens.
Been There. Done That. How I wish I could truthfully say that. 🙂
Thanks to Instragram,
your life is juicier
than my apple juice.
I was supposed to write about illusion then I glanced at my apple juice. Time might be the culprit why I can’t write a long story, but it doesn’t mean I can’t sum it up by thinking about Instagram.
I never complained why my life isn’t a picture perfect kingdom because some fruits taught me wisdom. And call me crazy when it made me smile that some people’s lives are juicier than mine. 🙂
Joys of Joel 
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