" quarter-century boy "

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the lights beckoned his eyes open. there was a faint tune playing in the far distance somewhere and the lights danced upon his heavy lids.

he picked up the flip top chain and answered it. talking ensued, and decisions were concluded.

"6:00am is too early for anyone to be turning 25," he thought to himself; all the thoughts of dreamery now muddled in the groggy nuisances of awaked reality.

stuffing the small machine underneath his pillow, he switched off everything and fell back, deeply asleep.

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another year has gone by. not that this is a new thing; every day a year has gone by. this is not exciting or special or significant, other than this is my birth day's new year which has come full circle.

twenty-five. 25. 1/4 of a hundred. too young to be famous, too old to have wasted so many minutes. i dislike being 25 already, maybe. and yet, there's not a thing i can do.

the butt-end of the calendar year always bring in the loose succession of celebratory events: dad's birthday, christmas, new year's, then my birthday. a stacked line of dominos lined up and falling on top of one another, each one with it carries a special moment within it, but ultimately ends up at me getting older. which is okay i suppose.

and each year, it's the same sensation. i barely start to own the fact that i am whatever age i was, when "shazaboom," sorry, you waited too long sir, you must move along no. shoo now.

maybe if i had someone to hug daily, it'd at least be like something more than the days are passing. something more than the earth turning on its axis forward through time; inevitable and unconstrictable. there's something about just staying asleep, that is so much more inviting as a possible celebration of such a day.

and yet, here i be.

in bangkok, scathingly single, and freshly 25; a few hours old reborn into a beautiful world awaiting my interactions. it looks to be a very good year, hopes brimming on the surface. i have no clue what sort of oyster it would be, but if this is my new world, it's some variation of the ole cliche. and it'd be best grilled in its own juices with a spicy mushroom tomato sauce with a twist of lime.

it's always interesting choosing which leg of the path i shall go with eyes transfixed, on into the indiscriminate futur; these collected days sinking behind, wandering into the thicket of better days ahead.

---

he sits at his computer typing his life away in short descriptive sentences. every thought, teeming in the hot cup of his steaming mind swirls, flourishing with colorful patterns and indescribable dream-tapestries.

he looks down into his being and feels a gaping hollow; the soft tropical breeze blows through with a silent howl. the night grows longer with its shadowed fingers stretching into every quiet crevice; the soft glow of glimmering lights fluttering ceaselessly, through the cracks of his wavering fingertips.

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