Tonight I will gather myself on top of the highest building and all the more you will love me there.

I will surprise you beyond all view with stronger love that collects itself with city things and neon lights which you and I used to fancy in our subsequent years.

Because you long for a man with nests of wild things in his mind, off the edge I’ll take this step with reminiscence and prayers as I come down to you to fit this ring of ageless love.

I hope this won’t freak you out.
I take my pen reluctantly, believing as I do in the virtues of acquaintance and world peace and not wanting to stir up a human heart, but when it comes to a friend and what he means to me as a genuine confidant and you – a nitwit pokemon, a sniveling drunk who pukes out an apology so self-serving, I’m afraid I must take a firm stand.

Perhaps serious commitment is not of interest to you and that, you valued my friend less. It’s as if you think relationships can be woven without a hem of loyalty, that you can easily mope around and look for another welcoming outlet into which you can release your salivating fantasies and, when caught, expect my friend (who knows the routes and dangers of homosexual affairs) to forgive such follies.

To be fair with you, I know you worked hard to have a good partner (what faggot doesn’t do that?) and I do not question your traditional I-need-to-meet-the-people-in-your-life nature, or your forget-the-details approach, or your time. But you made a grave mistake when you went south just to f*ck a culprit (whom my friend knew for awhile and didn’t expect to be the threat of this whole affair). If the adherents of such activity wish to enjoy its good time and the wild gyrations in the confines of wherever the two of you were that moment, such is a privelege only meant for uncommitted folks or those faggots professional enough to get away, because when this congress is thrusted upon a relationship (which you are in) and you expect my friend to forgive or to choose between pride and love or bribe his long-held idealisms just to give you another chance, not only are you breaking Trust, you are also imposing the very unpleasant thing for a starting relationship. That is submission.

On the other hand, you must remember that we are no longer in the medieval age, the time when people could freely conquer another land and were always ready to take off their shields to bed with a stranger without thinking whether that partner is clean or not. We are in a generation that diseases can knock a person right after his pleasures, gossips can make your face fall off in public. I do not claim that the culprit or whoever you are into are carriers, but you should have realized that the vast majority of people like us is active and some of them maybe are contracted from God-knows-what chances.

And you know what rudes me most? You finished a health-conscious degree. Don’t you have a little thought of what your activity might give you in the future? You should have not taken the course and, instead, proceed slutting around. And don’t you realize that a stranger is ten times (or more) dangerous to you than you are to my friend? Does this compulsion to f*ck a stranger make you a better lover? And now that things have come to unexpected endings, can a satisfied penis save your face?

You know what… you should have remained closeted or acted straight for the rest of your life because you cannot validate the heart of a faggot out of such unapologetic action. You don’t have a character to function.

And please..

Don’t swim upstream. Don’t piss into the wind. You’re not a God. Your c*mshots are not as charming as confettis. Simply get along by going along and carry your head higher than your crotch.
Once there was a faraway kingdom ruled by a king who was privileged to command his subjects as he wanted. But in the entire kingdom, there was only one who could turn wishes to reality, and that was the sorcerer.

On the driest day of the year, when all vegetations became wilted and the air was bitter with dust, the king went to the sorcerer’s house and found the courage to knock. When the sorcerer came, he saw behind her firewood burning on the hearth, brightly covered furniture as soft as newly sheared wool, and a lamp lit. He sat in one, with his boots on the rug and his hands stretched to the fire.

The sorcerer said nothing, and at last the king spoke his visit. “Can you help me? I have three wishes.” The sorcerer asked what they were. When the king gave descriptions of his wishes, she said, though she could brim the river with fresh water and make all trees bear fruit, the first two wishes were unachievable.

“The last one, though,” she said, mulling over the desperation of the king. “Your third wish, perhaps.”

Then the sorcerer opened her treasure box, pulled out a crippled stick as long as the king’s scepter, and said, “Walk throughout the season with this.”

She led the king to the door in silence and watched him disappear on his horse back to the palace.

The king carried the stick for months. But it did not make the plants bear flowers, or have the next mornings with rain, or fill his visitors’ hand-baskets with sweetmeats and fruits. And so, eventually, telling himself that his scepter looked better than the crippled stick, he stopped walking with the stick. He hated looking at it and so ordered one of his privy councils to take it out of the palace. The council left it leaning against the huge rock in the palace garden.

On the next day, there came a restoring rain after months of drought. Dry leaves were blown away from the roads, rivers filled, birds flew across the waking sky, and flowers ornamented the mornings. Everything around the palace turned green.

After the rain ceased, the king walked out of his palace and saw the stick. It was no longer crooked. At the top, leaves were sprouting out of the wood. Buds were starting to puff out along its length. He didn’t take it in to the palace but instead checked on it every morning. When flowers came, he left his scepter inside and started to walk with the stick again.

Astonished by this phenomenon, the people of his kingdom approached him with sweetmeats and all kinds of fruits, the craftsmen gave him with their beautiful products, the miners a couple of intricate gemstones. The stick flowered in eternal season of prosperity and made everyone happy.

One day, not long after sunrise, the king rode once more to the house of the sorcerer. He knocked, and the sorcerer came out.

“Look at the stick,” said the king.

“Yes,” said the sorcerer.