confession of a male concubine

i dont know how long we have been lying down that time. all i could remember was the gentle rhythm of your snore and how i patiently followed the shadows in your wall.

i dont know if i have ever told you how i love looking at your window. amazed on how competing sky-rises have missed blocking such a rare urban sight from the inner view of your room: a moon set.

always finding a certain feeling of loneliness when the shadows have finally disappeared. its time for me to go back home.

i recalled the conversations we had last night after i asked you if feelings bother someone alike when it comes to sex.

you answered. it will be stupid for someone to equate sex with love. you have sex just to answer an urge. you fall in love to build something way more lasting, something more secured (i silently laughed at the last word).

i became silent. the answer could definitely put any hoping soul to their respective places and from their i already knew my part.

i pulled my pants up. hoping it will hold without my missing belt on. but it could only last for the next 12 steps before i have to pull it up again.

a close friend once told me how annoying i could be when i start talking and thinking about life's technicalities. its funny that i have thought of this while asking myself why shoes are designed to fit a specific side of the feet while socks don't.

if one should not equate sex to love, then why are there people who question love just because of sex?


its interesting how people paradoxically put confusing weight on the topic of sex and love. some will say its situational and practical while some say its selfish.

but if someone had sex with another other than his/her partner would that mean s/he doesn't love his partner anymore?

is relationship and fidelity exclusively anchored by sex, by love, by both or by something we always deny to matter?

our social contracts have told us that this is how it should be while the rest of our consciousness would clamor it should have been another way around.

before i could finally close the door, i took one last glimpse at you. your body at your side, pushing your legs to your center, hugging and looking for that warmth. honestly, i always liked this part; for this is the only time you are vulnerable. the only time i can be the one who leaves you behind.

i just hope that later, by the time the one who truly owns that bed space returns, s/he will feel my warmth on those sheets as it hugs across your body. just at the very least, s/he knows that i exist.