Then, Now and Tomorrow..

I have failed to break the routine on my birthday, and that is to spend it by myself contemplating on the more important things than my needs. Moving in the city, sharing the unit with bunch of girls who work in barren world among preoccupied souls, they reminded I coexist. So I had coffee with one of them and shared dinner with most, laughing like crazies. There were messages and calls belonging from what I’d refer to as the box of forgotten.


This weekend, I went home at my mom’s after being away for over a month. She woke up as soon as I walked in. She was waiting for me to talk since its almost has been that I’m back in the old room when I’m running away from something. I told her the story and it seems she had outgrown my ill-fated stories. I knew what she’s thinking—the cursed one!


Few things have come to a conclusion after a dogmatic self superimpose:


The girls are my loyal allies or my haters.


I burn myself to further affirm a solid assumption.


One foot is always readied towards disconnecting.


I’m a weird speaker. A hybrid of naïve principle and philosophical intellect.


I have categorized acquaintances to strict distinction–The essential. The future. Temporaries. Forgotten.


I am tenable of emotions. I forget feelings.



I am the Blackwidow. The weird. The geek. The cynical. The Bitch. The irrelevant theorist. A contending entity of spirituality and wickedness.


I have no future. I rather wait for the manifestation of my actions today.


I live to write. The result of my writings is the start and the ultimate end


Where the new field is, the grasses were pulled one by one from their roots tenaciously. In the process, I was cut by thorned ones and engulfed by tall masses. I wanted to burn all of it, same as last time but I’d be left with nothing. A charcoaled soil with no life form. My faith taught me to mine hope in the midst of dismal. So I’m taking my time now. Though the horizon seems shadowed by uncertainty, I knew deep within that “the case of Maria” will be history. My hands will orchestrate a new symphony. And then the chosen one who was predicted and that I was warned of. That time has come near I suppose.

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Abby Mabb

Snarly female. Occasional book reviewer.

Espen Stenersrød- From Pen To Heart

Jack Kerouac with a scent of Henry Vaughn

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"The hero of my tale, whom I love with all the power of my soul, whom I have tried to portray in all his beauty, who has been, is, and will be beautiful, is Truth." Leo Tolstoy

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