Slip of the Pen

She was born on 5:28, I was born on 8:52. At first glance it seems a harmless coincidence; after all, there’s a person born every minute. But when two people having those amusing numbers cross paths and spend eight years dancing with each other, you’re reminded of an oft-abused word having “soul” and having “mate”.

These two people are two shoes in different colors. Somehow, they sport similar designs. (Maybe because they come from the same Maker, and were meant to be paired in the future, albeit in fashion faux pas?) The feet that wear them walk together in different cadences, but if one falls behind, it always catches up — the other never leaves it behind. And when these feet find themselves back on the same track, the cadence goes awry again after some time. But as always, one waits for the other, the other catches up. It’s a cycle, a sequence of missteps and small reunions, all backdropped against a war of colors that, oddly enough, look good together from time to time.

She was born on 5:28, I was born on 8:52. She was born, I was born.

She, I.


Happy 21st birthday, dearest Ia. Guys, please do me a favor and greet her at the newly-opened Stellify.net. Thanks! (And it’s not my birthday today — I was born on May 10.)

It dies in a blaze of glory and is reborn from the ashes.

An elegant line. Unfortunately, one that can’t be applied to Corsarius.net. That’s for the phoenix.

It dies in an ignominious Fil.ph crash –
there, that’s more apt, though it must be conceded that –

and is reborn from the ashes.

Reborn, in a blaze of glory.


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