About the Blog Name

Raconteur is another word for story-teller. In Jueteng (a Filipino number game of chance), 11 is a number for soul. So literally, The Raconteur 11 means The Storyteller's Soul.

Friday, May 4, 2012

MASQUERADE



02-24-2009
Some things are just not meant to be.

Let alone for this moment there is just me and you in this beautiful garden. We are lying in the newly trimmed Bermuda grass, staring at the stars, smelling the mixed scent of roses and orchids, while a soft-music is playing in the background. Then completing the scene, through the light of fireflies, you asked me to dance.
We dance slowly. We talk of almost about everything. Then, we laugh as if there is no space in this world for sorrow. Our eyes sparkle with so much love.

I for myself cannot believe that this is happening for I can still remember the night when I confess how much I love you.
"Your my friend, just that!" you said, then you leave.
I said sorry then tried to forget you.

But fate gambles and our path again cross, right in this garden. As you handed three roses you said, "The moment i saw them, I can't help but to think of you."

Then you said:
"Let alone for this moment there is just me and you in this beautiful garden. We are lying in the newly trimmed Bermuda grass, staring at the stars, smelling the mixed scent of roses and orchids, while a soft-music is playing in the background. Then completing the scene, through the light of fireflies, I asked you to dance."

THEY dance slowly. THEY talk of almost about everything. THEY laugh as if there is no space in this world for sorrow. THEIR eyes sparkle with so much love.
Hiding on the bushes, I stare at the moon shining on us. "Ah pretentious little thing...full of deceits!!! You seem to glow on your own, but in fact, it’s the reflection of the water which is strike by the sun that emits your light!"

As I turn back and watch them continue dancing, I said to myself; “I’m like the moon---a great pretender". But as long as no one find out of this pretense. As long as I can still mask the pain...I'll pursue of this masquerade.

But as morning comes, in the first strike of sunlight, on bended knees you said; "Will you marry me?”  
The world seems to stop...the music faded... and obliviously, along with the first drop of tears from my eyes...my mask falls to the ground.

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