Irish beckons to me yet again... It's easy enough to let her blog pass... but that was never the case between blogging friends.
She battles with her demons. I was there to share the fresh strawberries there. Probably, some of the rains. Most definitely, the runs.
Irish and I know that running away never solved anything. If it did, why would we be both back in the very place we tried to escape from? Ah, if only we can lose ourselves with the wind, we would be free as kites.
But then, the breeze would never blow in just one direction. It changes. What is constant is the ebb and flow of the tides. And the taste of tea, shared with friends. Warming us, even as winter settles in both of our hearts.
How many times did we look at the sunset?
There was one time, down at Schev. We lost ourselves in our reveries. But that time has passed. Still at another time, in Subic. When we were reminsicing about what it was like to be young.
I cannot take away her pain. I, too, have my own. Children warriors, we're not supposed to survive anything. Except our very own wills.
Irish fights for her cases. Sometimes, I feel like she's on the road to a losing battle. I admire her though. She knows how to fight for people. If only... people who matter to her can fight for her too.
A wish that echoes the same beat in my heart. If only people I loved could have fought for me the same way she does.
The road is paved. Many things have been carved into stone. The path for Irish is still unwinding. For me, there is no going back. I can try to look for her along the way. But even I am not a good role model for her.
It's probably simpler if we just sit by the full moon. Admiring its beauty. Gasping and marveling at it. The full moon eases both of our pains. It cloaks us from the darkness of our thoughts.
We can both write. Of Federer, and teas and strawberries and bikes and little things. We both cannot hide from what we both run away from.
She still has a choice. My choice was already made. A long time ago...
There cannot be any room for regret. There is only a need to move forward. And perhaps, in between movements, a bottle of cheap wine to make us laugh.
To Irish. For moonlights and Moon Rivers...
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