Warning: Sugar Overload

It's actually a nice Friday afternoon despite the dreadful news that we won't get our salaries (again!) on the 31st. It's quiet here in the office except for the sporadic sound of fingers pounding on the keyboard and a faint how sweet it is to be loved by you playing on some colleague's radio. Nice, isn't it, I've even lit one of my candles to keep the calm energy flowing. But I miss Kulas.

It's 12:01 on my PC clock; Kulas would already be hungry by now. He would be striding towards my cubicle and playfully pout that I'm forgetting I have somebody to feed. He'd then go to the pantry to get our plates and utensils and sit while I heat our lunch in the microwave. Always, always, and even I get annoyed at myself for being makulit, I would remind him not to mess up his shirt with the soy sauce or the catsup or his ulam. Kulas is a five year old boy when it comes to keeping his shirt clean while eating. Sounds like my husband-to-be is a slob? It's endearing actually. And shucks, I miss him.

Get well, na please.