The Sunbaked King

Single Guy Dances the Waltz

The sky is overcast. The clouds are gray and threatening. The prospect of rain usually sends the normal, rational mind to reach for the nearest umbrella, or in its absence, the nearest available shelter. But you are neither normal nor rational these days. Your mind is stormy, like it usually is, so you continue your walk under the bare, pregnant sky. Its childbirth will be spectacular, and your current state of mind will be its child’s brother.

Take my hand, take a breath 
Pull me close and take one step
Keep your eyes locked to mine
And let the music be your guide

Loneliness is a state best indulged in under the rain. It makes perfect sense: the only other people you’ll see in the street are those bearing the same cross that you’re bearing. The fact that you’re so few and far apart is a perfect manifestation of your loneliness, and it suits you just fine. No one to take your hand. No one to pull you close. Only the rain’s weight to comfort you. Only the rain’s beat to be your guide.

Won’t you promise me (now won’t you promise me, that you’ll never forget)
We’ll keep dancing (to keep dancing) wherever we go next

The distance you’re trekking is one of anger and sadness and confusion and revenge. With every breath, a promise forgotten. With every step, a painful memory. Your feet are taking you to familiar roads, but your destination is blurry. But you’ll keep on walking to wherever, because you have no choice.

Take my hand, I’ll take the lead
And every turn will be safe with me
Don’t be afraid, afraid to fall
You know I’ll catch you through it all

A kilometer in, and the tears begin to fall. What has been a vague undertaking is now infinitely vaguer, sadder, lonelier. The roads are getting more and more unfamiliar. Your socks are soaked, and your shoes are caked with mud. Your entire entity is awash with wetness. At this point, safety ceases to matter. You’ll fall, and no one will catch you. You’ll get lost because no one took the lead.

It’s like catching lightning, the chances of finding someone like you
It’s one in a million, the chances of feeling the way we do
And with every step together, we just keep on getting better
So can I have this dance
Can I have this dance?

The rain pours harder, and in the sky: a roar of thunder, a bolt of lightning. In your mind, a single thought shines: what are the chances of getting hit by lightning? One in a million? One in a billion? And if you get hit without anyone there to see it, will you make a sound? Will anyone give a fuck?

These thoughts fade slowly from your mind as you walk further down the path you have chosen for yourself. The rain continues to waltz around your feet, and you continue to dance with it.


Filed under: Eros, Fiction, Yes?

9 Responses

  1. white says:

    [Deleted per request of comment author. Hehe.]

  2. white says:

    hmnnn…this entry sounds interesting. bluntly, are you looking for a……hmnnnn….mate? 🙂 err someone to hold that umbrella while you are walking under the rain?

    Take my hand, I’ll take the lead
    And every turn will be safe with me
    Don’t be afraid, afraid to fall
    You know I’ll catch you through it al….

    di ba? 🙂

  3. white says:

    sorry ker for the double posting and the typo. please delete the first one. got a message from wordpress that i am posting comments so quickly…LOL

  4. kerwinray says:

    Mate? Hahaha. What a word. Sounds very… biological.

    I’m looking for someone to walk under the rain with. 🙂 I think that’s more appropriate.

    But really, all this is fictional. Haha.

  5. white says:

    Fiction??!! hmf! 🙂

  6. makmak says:

    [Deleted per request of comment author. Second time today. Haha.]

  7. makmak says:

    “… The rain is the perfect excuse to be melancholic.

    While everyone else was swarming to the nearest shelter, or taking the readily available public transport, I decided that I shall walk. With my hood in place, I started traversing the length of two avenues.

    See, this is when people will see me as eccentric. Eccentric’s too good a vocabulary though. [These people shall] use weird instead. But I couldn’t care less. See I find comfort in the rain. Rain is love.




    A few minutes into it, a stray thought hit me: If I were to walk home with another person, would it have made the circumstance more festive or more melancholic? More weird, perhaps. I have to know.”


    Single guy, *sigh* listen.

    Your loneliness is killing me. And [had] I known that you were looking for someone to walk under the rain with, I would have invited you.

    But of course, it was, as you put it, fictional.


    Fiction is love. B.

  8. J says:

    Sabi ni Ralph Waldo Emerson , “Fiction reveals truth that reality obscures.”

    at sabi nga nila “Fiction offers truth more than all the facts”

    sabi ko naman, mapa fiction man yan or hindi. I feel the same way dati. Hope that you’ll find that person soon. Baka nasa tabi tabi lang 🙂

    Para ma inspire ka naman kantahin mo n lang to …:-)

    Kahit umulan man o umaraw
    Payong ko’y iyong maaasahan
    Di ka na mababasa nang ulan
    Di ka na mababasa nang ulan

    Kahit ang bagyo ay kakayanin
    Huwag kang lalayo sa akin
    Di ka na mababasa nang ulan
    Di ka na mababasa nang ulan

    Di na, di na, hinde, hinde, hinde
    Mababasa nang ulan
    Di na, di na, hinde, hinde, hinde
    Mababasa nang ulan
    Di na, di na, hinde, hinde, hinde
    Mababasa nang ulan
    Di na, di na, hinde, hinde, hinde, hinde, hinde

    (at isayaw mo na rin pla :-p )

  9. kerwinray says:

    @ White: Isn’t fiction convenient?

    @ MakMak: I guess we’ve talked about this in length: the reasons why I associate rain with loneliness, how loneliness came to light in the first place, and how HSM 3 triggered all these emotions with one wonderful song.

    But you know what? Rain isn’t a bad thing. Loneliness isn’t a bad thing. Most important, fiction isn’t a bad thing, either.

    Thanks for the invitation, though. 🙂 S.

    @ J: J, salamat sa kanta. I’ll dance to it when the melody of the song reveals itself to me.

    Sabi nga ni MakMak, fiction is love. Whether it reveals or obscures, whether it points to facts or masks the lies, it is love.

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