Scribblings and scrawls of a hopeless romantic soul


old memories

Memories and Smoke


Adam settled into his favorite bench, took out his pipe and lit it, and then filled the afternoon with recollection of memories and stories, of smiles and tears.

Autumn has come around and the world is bathed into a crisp ocher and golden brown again. She had always loved this season, he thought. His mind wandered back to the time when he came home to find Eve nestled in the heap of tawny leaves like a bird curled at the core of its nest; her lips arched into a smile. He kissed her the way a prince would have kissed sleeping beauty—only that she never woke up. Eve lay cold and lifeless as he broke into tears and disbelief.

He’d never seen autumn that dreadful. Since then, part of him died each day when the leaves fell from the trees. Lost in memories and smoke, he waited for winter.

Word Count: 150

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

Here is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers prompt. This week’s photo prompt is provided by Phylor. Thanks PJ for hosting another fun prompt.

Enjoy more stories here:




There you go again, waiting at the very same corner on 6th street. On most days I ignore you— at least that’s what I barely manage to do. You see, it is hard to ignore someone you’ve so desperately wanted to be a part of your life but it is harder to put up a poker face and tell the world that you are fine. There are days when I pass that corner on 6th street and I feel the urge to punch you in the face. BUT I CAN’T. How can you smack someone who isn’t even there? How can you jab a blow on just a mere memory. Call me hopeless but your memories keep on haunting me.

Wind blows from the east
Eyes shut, I heartily plead—
Take these mem’ries, please.

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

Image Source: Favim

In response to dVerse’s Haibun Monday: A Little Romance

Tending the bar today is Toni with her piece, One on One. The challenge is to think and pull out your best romantic (or funniest or saddest) haibun ever in one or two tight paragraphs with a true classic haiku at the end – nature based with a cutting or pivot in the second line. The count will be 5-7-5 but some do write short-long-short.

Head over here to join the fun:


Furry Love

I think my jar of poetic juice needs a refill so I’ve decided to take a break from poetry. Instead, I’d like to share about something that made my  day. 😉

Meet Tog (not his name), a gorgeous-looking stray dog dressed in a golden hue of fur, adorned with bold stripes and rosettes. Yes, you’ve read that right. He is a stray. But I’d say this big boy is too good and too big to be one though.

I choose to call him “Tog” for I have this wild belief that he is a half-tiger, half-dog. Crazy, I know. Haha! But look at his fur! There’s something in those patterns and his sheer size that’s alarming yet you could see nothing but kindness in his eyes. That’s when I knew I’m in love. If only I wasn’t on my way back to the office, I would have snuck him out of that place.

He reminded me so much of my two girls, Murd and Kler. Originally, they were named CC (cookies and cream) and Mocha based on their furs. It was when they started a killing spree, haunting our poor chicken and innocent chicks, that I named them Murd (muderer) and Kler (killer). They were spoiled and conceited ladies but they were sweet and loving, too. And I missed them.

Kler died two years ago of an unknown illness and Murd… was taken down last year. Murd was exceptionally playful who tends to bite and, although she was free of rabies, neighbors have complained about her habit. My parents never told me she was executed until I visited home a month after. It broke my heart.

Murd was a picky one (did she get that from me? :D) but I knew she would have liked Tog. They would have made cute little puppies of stripes, cookies and cream. Now, that’s only a far-fetched dream. *tears*

I just hope Kler and Murd are happy in Dogland and I pray Tog finally finds his home. ❤

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

Today’s Filipino word prompt is “gigil” which refers to the “uncontrollable urge to pinch or squeeze someone”.

Come on! Write a poem or a fiction
Snap a photo under the sun
A six-word tale or a long post, perhaps?
Let’s all get word-high this July!

Want to join the fun? Find the prompt words HERE! Don’t forget to pingback & use the tag WordHighJuly. Mazel tov! 😉





Tagu-taguan maliwanag ang buwan
Giggles, titters, and silly laughs
Wala sa likod, wala sa harap

Little kids restless and eager to play
‘Pag ka bilang kong tatlo nakatago na kayo
Run swiftly as the wind; find a place to hide
Climb the mango tree
Crawl behind the shrubs
Hearts beat faster
Breaths held like forever
Close your eyes
And wish the seeker won’t find


Day 18: Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that incorporates “the sound of home.” Think back to your childhood, and the figures of speech and particular ways of talking that the people around you used, and which you may not hear anymore. Coax your ear and your voice backwards, and write a poem that speaks the language of home, and not the language of adulthood, office, or work. Happy writing!

Taguan is the Filipino version of the game, Hide-and-Seek. One player is randomly chosen as the it while the other players then hide. The it goes to search for them. The game ends when all of the players are found. The player who is first found will be the new it (the searcher) in the next round.

J is for J’adore


J’adore is a French phrase that is literally translated as “I adore”.

In order to say “I adore you”, one would say “Je t’adore”, which is <Je> meaning “I”; <tu> meaning “you”; and <adore> meaning “adore”. You drop the “u” in “tu” because adore begins with a vowel.

One day, out of boredom, I decided to revisit my past. And by ‘revisit’ I meant looking through the pages of my old notebooks— my hilarious handwriting, the doodles at the back of each notes, those check marks and ‘x’ marks.

Then I found it.

Deep beneath the heap of test papers, was my twelve years old diary— all dusty and fading, I couldn’t help but laugh. Scribbled on its pages were words and clauses that once screamed how once upon a time, a girl adored a boy.

June 12, 2006, when you started to be the main entry in all of my ‘Dear Diary’.

Dear Dairy, I saw someone today.
Dear Diary, I saw him again.
Dear Dairy, Who is he?
Dear Diary, Finally got his name. Dexter.
Dear Diary, He plays basketball!
Dear Diary, He’s on the Top 5.
Dear Diary, He listens to E-heads.
Dear Diary, Does he know my name?
Dear Diary, He really does know my name!!!!
Dear Diary, He smiled!!!
Dear Diary, He smiled again.
Dear Diary, And again!
Dear Diary, Who’s that girl!?
Dear Diary, I didn’t see him today. Was he sick?
Dear Diary, Please tell me the rumors were lies.
Dear Diary, I saw him today— and her.
Dear Diary, The rumors were true.
Dear Diary, I know basketball now.
Dear Diary, I learned guitar and piano.
Dear Diary, I got an E-heads album.
Dear Diary, I made a poem.
Dear Diary, I topped the exam— well, except Math.
Dear Diary, It’s almost VALENTINES!
Dear Diary, He smiled!!!
Dear Diary, He smiled again.
Dear Diary, And again!
Dear Diary, I saw them, again.
Dear Diary, They held hands.
Dear Diary, They kissed.
Dear Diary, So they’re officially dating.

Dear Diary, What day is today? Oh, Valentines.
Dear Diary, I’m tired.

June 12, 2010 when all entries ended.

I let as sigh of relief and nostalgia, set aside my twelve years old diary— all dusty and fading, deep beneath the heap of test papers. Scribbled on its pages were words and clauses that once screamed how once upon a time, a girl adored a boy in utmost secrecy.


Read more 2016 A to Z Challenge entries here!

42 Wallaby Way, Sydney


It was Sunday afternoon when Kyle gave in to his daughter’s insistent demand. Kristel, his fair-skinned, auburn-haired, ball of cuteness eight years old, had been babbling about a place ever since she watched Finding Nemo.

“P Sherman, 42 Wallaby Way, Sydney! P Sherman, 42 Wallaby Way, Sydney! P Sherman, 42 Wallaby Way, Sydney!” she chanted from the backseat.

“Yes, sweetheart. Almost there.” Kyle smiled through the rear-view mirror.

“Just keep swimming, Daddy!” Her round eyes widened in excitement, her little teeth as white as pearl in full show. She’s a splitting image of his wife, Lyla. If only you were here, my love, he thought.

Minutes later, they pulled up near the harbor. Seagulls hovered in the sky, gliding with the sea breeze. Kyle looked around and found the dentist’s office. “Come on, sweetheart. There’s Mr. Sherman.”

Kristel dashed to the glass door, slid it open without a word. Inside was a stunned Latino who gave her a quick smile. “Hello there little angel! Can I help you?”

“Is Nemo here, Mr. Sherman?” she asked, moving towards the aquarium.

“Oh, the clownfish? I’m afraid he must have escaped through the drainage, angel.”

Instead of frowning Kristel grinned, “YAY! Nemo’s free!”

Word Count: 200

Written for Sunday Photo Fiction’s prompt.

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly writing challenge hosted by Alastair Forbes where a photo is used as a prompt for a piece of fiction using around 200 words. The piece doesn’t have to center around exactly what the photo is, it can be just used as a basis for a story. Thank you, Al!

Read more stories here:


Good Morning Kiss

100 words about a car mechanic with a big heart

This was his favorite kind of morning, sharing a good laugh with his wife while walking hand in hand around the farmhouse. No, they’re not newlyweds but Marta and John lived every single day of their forty years as if they are.

While having occasional banters on the roadside, John caught a glimpse of his 1930 vintage truck near the barn. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Here we go again…” Marta faked annoyance as her husband led her to the truck. He crawled under the chassis as if a mechanic trying to fix a troubled car. Of course the truck wouldn’t start, every tire was either short on air or completely flat, but they used to fool around it on some mornings.

“Remember how we first met?” John asked.

She opened the car’s hood and bent as low as she could so as to meet his smiling eyes. “Uhmm… not really,” she lied, “but I remember kissing a gorgeous guy who once fixed my car.”

Marta then tilted and gave him a good morning kiss.

Word Count: 175

Here is for  Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers prompt. This photo prompt from pixabay reminds me of country life and of sweet, loving old couples. ❤ 🙂

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers is a weekly writing challenge  where a photo is used as a prompt for a piece of fiction using 150 (+/- 25 words). Thanks for another fun prompt, PJ! 😀

Enjoy more stories here:

Bag of Memories


The last time, everything fit in three duffles. Four years ago, mom and dad left me here to perish—that’s what I thought then when your parents sent you to college in Belgium, a foreign country with foreign faces, foreign culture, and foreign language. Just me, my three duffel bags, and I in a jumbled mess.

I never would have thought I would come to miss this place. Its stinky corridors and noisy neighbors is a complete contrast to its neat façade but somehow I learned that it wasn’t so bad after all. My neighbors were fellow students from different countries and by the end of our fourth year, we’ve already become a one big, happy family. We laughed at each other’s flaws and cried for each other’s woes; one’s fight is everyone’s battle at the end of the day.

As I stopped before the cab that is taking me to the airport, I couldn’t help but take one last look and sigh. There’s so much memories and love in here. The last time, everything fit in my three duffles. I wonder if there’s a duffle bag huge enough to fit this place…

Word Count: 185

Written for Roger Shipp’s flash fiction challenge, Flash Fiction For the Purposeful Practitioner. An opening sentence is provided and we are to craft a story to under 200 words length. This week’s prompt reminds me of my college days. I was sent to a boarding school, too- not to perish but to have the best experience of my life. 😀

This week’s prompt is: “The last time, everything fit in three duffles…”

Enjoy more stories here:

Old Memories

FFfAW 12

She remembered it all. She remembered the vintage wood coffee tables made of red oak tree, the walls adorned with classic frames and what-nots on étagère, the coffered ceiling above the hardwood floors, and the wood veneer pool table.

Most of all, she remembered Ian—a tall, blond man with a crooked smile who led her to this place one evening in December. He was a really good pool player who taught her the tricks of the game. “There’s more to aiming than sinking a ball,” he used to say as he led her to a cue stick, his hands gripping her trembling arms while he leaned closer to her back, lowering her head over the stick. He would then softly whisper to her ear, “Aim the cue ball to a stripe one near the side pocket.” And she did as told. She could still remember the rush of joy as the ball rolled to make the shot; he would spin her around the room, pleased and proud.

Suddenly, a tinge of sadness came and she slowly closed the album with a weak smile. “Happy anniversary, my love. I hope there’s pool in heaven.”

Here is for  Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers prompt. This week’s photo prompt by Etol Bagam reminds me of a lovely scene from a Filipino book turned movie, She’s Dating the Gangster. I hope you forgive me for giving a sad twist to a sweet tale. 🙂 🙂

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers is a weekly writing challenge  where a photo is used as a prompt for a piece of fiction using 150 (+/- 25 words). Thanks for another fun prompt, PJ!

Enjoy more stories here:

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