*Ghost Writing
The cold breeze of the December night sends chills to my bones. In this melancholic night, my heart seems colder than the weather beyond the adamant windows. Taimis still holds a big part of my heart; but she is nowhere to be found in this vast place surrounded with wondrous works and magnificent terrain. Deep inside of me, I can still imagine the stroke of her hair which never landed on my epidermis. How come that such a dainty little thing would not wither away in this memory? Would it be better to think of Cristina Vespucci or Aveline de Grandpre while I am sober?
Under the gleaming sun, I extended my service to Juan, as he himself has done to me since I came to Paris. It seems like his heart was beating for a woman of grace and modesty. My friend asked for my wit to take care of the lady’s chaperone so as not to disrupt them in their matters of great importance. My presence might have not been remarkable to the young lady, but hers to mine was full of vibrancy. I am choked without words, but her charms resemble that of my dear Leonor. As I looked from afar, the throbbing in my heart heightens. But then I see the gentleman adjacent to her: Juan Luna. His eyes were shimmering more than ever. Through the weeks I have been living at his abode, I have never seen him in such ecstasy. I am indebted to this gentleman, however, and keeping this feeling aside would serve its best. As I try my best to entertain the lady chaperone in front of me, I take simple glimpses of the other young lady. This sly deed of mine won’t do any harm, I thought.
We bid farewell just before the moon shows up on the radiant sky. How flustered was I when Juan suddenly asks me about the young lady. Without any wrong motive, I extended my appreciation of her beauty and encouraged the gentleman to pursue her. Deep inside of me was a storm. I was unsure of what just came out of my frail lips. Did I really mean it? Do I really want him to hold her or do I want her for myself? Whatever the answers are, I did not want to know. After supper, we had a short conversation about the book I am currently writing. Finally, I have understood the throbbing of my heart after hours of contemplation. It was not Aveline de Grandpre nor was it the young lady herself. Taimis. I am reminded of her. I am reminded of the fleeting time we shared together in deep understanding. Despite the distance, it seemed like she has come once again. Her lips that are ever ready to smile makes mine smile as well.
With these fragile memories, I shall live. Perhaps, this petty sentiment of mine could be of good use after all. I shall let this tragedy die with the pages of this chronicle, and definitely on the other creations my hands might come about.
JP Rizal
22 January 2014 for HI165*
Little Dipper 