I have always loved the way how all sounds would govern my mood, emotion, and state of mind. How the rioting buzz of an alarm clock would validate my existence. How the operatic crying of a piping tea kettle would melt away my morning fits. How a shrill sound of a beeping phone would remind me that I am not the least favorite person. How the car honks would redirect me when I'm astray.  

For years, I thought they were the only fitting audios in a personal playlist I'd listen to on a loop. Until the warm month of April entered. It was the distinct, subtle sound vibrations of the wind chime that would automatically brush my hand through my boy-cut of a hair. It was the unrhythmic noise of your jangling bracelets that would have me sweating my palms. It was the downright distracting beats of your clicking stilettos that would overflow my excitement. It was your pleasingly modulated voice that would normalize the level of my serotonin. 

You'd stand at the center of the stage, one hand stashed in your pocket, the other wrapped around the microphone against your lips; chocolate eyes would tour around the tavern as though a call of habit and would idle to frame my face when spotted. 

Then you'd clear your throat. Introductions weren't your cup of tea, I noticed. And you'd tell us so every time you'd dismiss that distinguished act firmly associated with you before the crying would drift, giving way to howled as your poetry brings about a crescendo of blues. 

"Mahal kita, sabi ko

Mas mahal kita, tugon mo

Katahimikan sa ilalim ng kaalwahan ng kadiliman ang siyang namagitan sa 'ting dalawa

Marahang binagtas ng aking mga mata ang bawat landas ng iyong mukha

Pinaramdam ko sa aking mga daliri ang kapal ng iyong buhok, init ng iyong balat, at lambot ng iyong labi

Natagpuan ko ang kariktan na wari ko'y sa takipsilim at bukang-liwayway lang naglalagi

Narinig ko ang pag-awit ng mga anghel at ang pagsipol ni Kerubin sa malayang kalikasan

Nadama ko ang sandaling tanging nanaisin ay ang pagtigil ng ikot ng mundo bagaman mabilisan

Pero hindi ko sukat akalain na ang minsang pagsikat ay siyang paglubog din

Ang minsang paglinaw ay siyang paglabo rin natin

Minahal kita nang higit pa sa kinailangan

Minahal mo 'ko nang may pangangailangan

At sa iyong pagbitaw hiniling mong patawarin kita

Sa iyong paglisan ninais mong kalimutan kita

Paano?

Paano kung sa bawat paggising, masisilayan ka sa apat na sulok ng dingding? 

Paano kung sa bawat paghimbing, dadalawin ako ng iyong paglalambing?

Paano kung sa bawat pagsubok, maaalala kong minsan kang naging dalangin?

Paano kung sa bawat paglimot, matitikmang muli ang tamis ng una mong pag-amin?

Bawat liko, bawat sulok, bawat hinto, bawat tagpo; akala ko walang hanggan 

Ngunit heto ako, nangangapa, nagtataka kung bakit mo tinuldukan

Dahil itinuro lang naman sa atin ng mundo kung paano magmamahal

Pero hindi nito sinabing may mga bagay na hindi magtatagal."

"Hey, excuse me, Miss. Can have my drink now?"

"I'm so sorry, Sir." It was your serenading voice and perfectly-delivered poems that would constantly leave me blanking out, failing to be in courteous service to my customers. And most of the times you'd take notice of those scenarios, just as though I was some kind of a magnet that pulls your eyes to watch. "Here goes your mix. Have a good time."

After performing, you'd take your personal microphone off its stand and descend from the stage with neither a wave nor a quick word of goodbye. A number would pull you for a photo op the instance you'd row a walk over their space. A few would steal glances, pecks, and rushes of warmth from you. A couple would only board their spots; besotted with drinks, wounded by your lines. Whereas I'd prepare your usual drink: whiskey on the rocks. 

You'd take the highchair from the end corner of my post, raising your glass to thank me right after having it served. As usual, I'd only smile, proceed on mixing and laying out alcoholic beverages based on customers' requests. My fear of rejection and poor self-concept have never really done my romance life any good. 

"One more shot, please." You'd stand on your feet, tucking a cigarette to your lips. Habitually, you'd drink a minimum of two or a maximum of four before leaving for the rooftop to smoke; the last shot you'd tag with.

I'd be left on my post counting minutes for your return and my substitute's arrival. I'd be mixing drinks; watching how people get wasted, struggle to sober up, dance, grind their groins against strangers' arses, and go carnal with disco lights on their faces. 

"Yosi lang ako sa labas, ikaw na muna bahala rito," I'd tell Chi when she finally arrives to stand in for me as I take a break.

She'd settle her things first in the cabinet beneath the sink before she'd look up to me snaking an apron around her waist.

"Ayaw mo sa rooftop?" she'd tease like a nightly chore between us.

Simply would I raise a middle finger. In all honesty I would always try taking the stairs leading to the rooftop--to you. It wouldn't pan out. Not with my continuously deflating self-esteem. But I had always braved to try.

The city would nearly be asleep whenever I'd step out, only the alley rife with underrated Waterloos and neon litten tattoo parlors would give life. There would be the usual yet not the same passersby ambling on the sidewalk, cars speeding on the highway, bikers resting by the gutters under the shadows of the flickering street lights. My companions would always be the wind on my skin, slivers of light on my face, a swarm of flying insects on top of my head, a cigarette in my hand, and the ruminating thoughts in my mind. 

That distinct, gentle push on the tavern's glassdoor causing the windchime to clang would interrupt my musings but I wouldn't look back. I'd just wait for you to walk past me, then secure you with my eyes as you amble towards your ride. When your car would completely disappear from my eyeshot, I'd get back to work.

But one night just turned out to be a different story.

"Can I have a light?" said you.

Groping for the lighter in my pocket, I turned around to face you. To my surprise, you were already standing right in front of me: our faces just two sticks of cigarettes distant. Unfortunately, they went a good measure apart when you had lit up yours with mine. I wasn't able to read the expression written on your face or what your eyes were trying to convey--if there was. But under the light of the moon, I was able to conclude that daylight wasn't second to none; as your beauty doesn't cease, never that of it that fades in the darkness. 

Engines revved from afar. Chatters, flickers trailed off inaudible. Starlights, moonlight shone brighter. Silence built up between us as a mass of our cigarettes' smokes flew free in the air, clouding my vision of a goddess that is you. The air hugged through my skin as though reminding me that time was falling off shorter for me, either because I needed to get back my post or I needed to own this night for myself. 

To which, it was the latter. 

And you did it so for me. 

Unasked. 

Unsweetened.

Uncreative.

Unrehearsed.

But you had me nonetheless.

"Props to me for seeing you puffing out smoke in the calm of nightfall. This was my last-ditch, desperate effort to finally make a move on you."