The Literary Bumpkin's Blog

Y ou are the purest thought of my everyday's language the matrix that gives sense to my embedded clauses the syntax of my meaningless phrases the commas, periods, that halt my ends and pauses You are more than the seamest juncture of my uneven syllables the rise and fall of my bland verses the modifiers that dangle in the thread of my sentences You are my every auxiliary that allows me to express my moods, aspects, and tenses the copula that annex those delicate adjectives into this unworthy subject. You are the adverb that intensifies and exaggerates the worth of my actions the preposition that brings me to my real place the conjunction that interweaves my fragmented units Who am I then but a bound morpheme, an insignificant affix in your lexical root, a broken unit of inflection a discrete shred of your noun's declension a tiny dot in your eye An unnecessary comma splice. In all...

My Wena, It’s been more than two years now that I have known you. We started as friends online. You were part of an fb group I had created. Whoever added you, I had no clue, but I’d forever be beholden to that person who brought you there. You see, time flew so fast, our friendship grew slower yet sweeter. Intermittently, you chatted me only a few and far between, especially when you’re in need of somethin. Until our future robbed us of ourselves that we eventually found a mutual need for each other’s fondness. It was a shared interest— book reading— that melded our two distinct isles from the get go. It opened a conversation. Who wouldn’t admire a woman who had immense love for theological books and bought plenty of them. That’s too attractive a quality of a woman I was helplessly drawn into. For the most part, I did wish that I would meet somewhere along my saddest route a woman of your sort. I dreamt of having someone like you. But I was anxious that such wish would ever be t...