I love staring at her.
Sometimes she looks like him.
Sometimes she looks like me.

Sometimes when the both of you are fast asleep I just want to wedge myself into the 5cm gap between you.

Sometimes I don’t. I’d rather read or bid on Ebay. But during those rare times when I find myself sandwiched between your bodies I realize why I don’t do it more often. I get squashed, pushed, kicked and get stacked on. It seems hereditary that both of you simultaneously stack your legs on mine when you sense me in bed. Her legs are lighter of course but yours are unbearable. But I let you for a while because I love you and I want you to be comfortable. Soon I can’t feel my legs and I kick yours off mine. So I stack my legs on yours and you let me. Because I let you and you love me. I do this while hoping you fall deeply into asleep so you don’t notice that I keep my legs elevated until the morning.

It is true. You will never know the meaning of sacrifice, tiredness, happiness and pure love until you become a parent.

I dip my hand into a bowl of artificially-colored, sugar-coated, fruit-flavored jubes. My mouth salvates. The sugar dissolves. The stickiness is comforting. It reminds me of kissing you.

I went to see my dermatologist today. She's so old now but she's cool. She noticed how my skin has gotten much better since I last saw her. She looked at the results to my bloodtest and was so shocked. It ends up that I have ultra-super-duper-grabe sensitive skin. I.G (or something) is an indication of skin sensitivity and the normal person has an I.G of 40. So you could imagine my surprise when she told me that I have an I.G of OVER 2000!! Grabe talaga. At least now I know that I wasn't dreaming my skin problems up. So yes, I have the works, and all i have to blame are my parents. I guess you can't fight genetics.

You are like the chewing gum under my shoes that refuse to be scraped off

I cried tonight. Now my eyes are puffy and red. Tomorrow I will not be able to open my eyes when I wake up because they would have gotten more swollen in my sleep. I will receive stares from people because they too know that puffy eyes are a sign of sadness endured the night before. They will look at me sympathetically wondering what made me so unhappy, "did her husband leave her? is she hurt? is she lonely?".

I wanted to cry to you tonight. I just wanted to hear you breathe on the other end of the line. I needed reassurance that someone cared, that something was right in my life, that wishes come true. I wanted you to hear me weep and sniffle, and feel sorry for me and genuinely care for me because at least this time these tears aren't for you.

But you aren't home tonight. I didn't hear you breathe on the other end of the line - because you didn't pick up. I didn't see your name flash and turn from red to blue - because you probably weren't home. My head can only lean on a tear-soaked pillow - where is your shoulder?

So I came to a realization tonight. You have your own life now and so do I. We still live worlds apart. But during our bubble rendezvous we can talk about anything, as loudly as we want - without the risk of anyone ever hearing us. I think it's better this way since there is little room for attachment, little chance of boredom and no chance of heartbreak. Nevertheless I still love you, platonically of course.