Summer Nights

Seventeenth of June when I first laid eyes on him. It was a warm day, 28 degrees I remember the thermostat read as I left. 

Yeah, I met this chick last summer.

I was taking a short walk across Luneta when I saw him sitting on a bench, reading a book.

There’s a bar at Timog where the real slutty girls go. And not the funny slutty, the slutty-slutty.

I saw down beside him and asked him politely what book he was reading.

Yeah, when Migo went to the washroom, this chick sat down beside me and drank Migo’s beer left on the counter

He said it was the Great Gatsby. I asked if it was for his lit class. He said it was for fun.

She asked if I had enough to drink.

He had the cutest dimples in his face as he was talking about the book. We’ve both read it, of course.

She had the cutest dimples in her ass as I fucked it in my car outside.

He said he was an artist, trapped by the economy to work at a call center, but he always wanted to sing.

She said she was a model. I didn’t ask for what.

We watched the sunset, my head resting on his shoulder.

I gave her a fistbump and a tissue to wipe her mouth.

It was that magical moment staring at the future, wondering what if, what could be, forever be.

She asked if I had a girlfriend. I lied and said yes.

But today was his last day in Manila. He had to go back to the province tomorrow. I held on to his shoulders heavily.

She’s cool with the whole non-committed shit.

I died a little bit inside, it’s meeting the man you were supposed to be with and lose him after a day.

Average fuck, if you ask me. She was hot, but she’s so fucking quiet when being fucked.

What they say about summer flings.

What they say about summer flings.

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This is the 100 Songs Project, a 100-day writing challenge based on AFI’s 100 Years…100 Songs. Every day, I write a short poem, prose piece, or play based on, reacting to, rejecting, accepting, or doing something related to one of the songs in the top 100 list.

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