Sixty Minutes

I smell the scent
Of your sexy perfume
From a distance
Inches close
Yet like a mile apart.

And as the teacher says
"Everybody raise for prayer",
My heart pleads
The heavens
That you may notice
These eyes
That silently adore you.

As the teachers begins
Her lesson for the day,
I shot you secret gazes
Memorizing your every detail...
Every strand of your hair.

In sixty minutes
I sit beside you
With my heart
Throbbing
Like a crazy timpani drum
And my stomach
Churning
Because of the butterflies
Fluttering within.

In sixty minutes
I wish
That you may give me
A smile...
A second of attention.

And as the teacher
Ends the class,
The sixty minutes end.
Another teacher enters;
it's another sixty minutes.
The cycle starts again.

Under The Mahogany Tree

***This is the full and uncut version of the story Under The Mahogany Tree which was published in the pages of The WORD, the official student publication of Holy Name University, Tagbilaran City, Bohol.  I got raving responses from the readers about the story and let me have this opportunity of saying my sincerest thank you for loving the story of Jenny. ♥

UTMT is a special piece for me since it became an evident transition for me from being that so-so writer in high school to a better, more mature writer in college.  This is also my longest finished story to date.  Writing the story took me a long time ---five months I think --- but I think the length of the hiatus really gave the story a wonderful take.

So for my dearest readers, here is Under The Mahogany Tree.  Hope you keep on reading my literary pieces here at http://foreverdandreb.blogspot.com/.  Do also drop by to my personal blog http://thoughtsandheartstrings.blogspot.com/.  Thanks much. ♥ ♥ ♥

The sun does not illuminate the field where I stand. The chill of the cold February breeze weakens my every bone. The smell of every blossoming flower is like venom that anesthetized my body. The dark gray sky, the loneliness of the lake...it all adds up to my lament. The feeling of melancholy gradually consumes my totality, especially when I think of the memories I had in this place…on this very spot.

I stand here near a paved area at the foot of the mahogany tree. This tree in the middle of this field of yellow buttercups and asters, after all these years, has been standing strong. How old it is? That I don’t know. I am no scientist to figure it out but one thing is for sure, it is old, very old. This mahogany tree has been here even before I was born. This tree witnessed stories of love, lost, friendship. It has been tested by time yet it remained on its roots, able to give comfort to those who seek it, especially forlorn souls.