In 2 days, 8 hours, and 18 minutes, I am destined to watch Jason Mraz in concert.
Never mind that he probably won’t propose to me as he sings 1000 things.
Never mind that from the second row of the audience patron section, as a friend puts it, “isang row na ang nakalanghap ng hangin na nalalanghap niya bago mo pa malanghap.”
Never mind that I probably won’t go in as the biggest fangirl — as the most psychotic fan, maybe.
HUUU Sunday with Jason Mraz and his guitar (and well, Toca Rivera) on the spotlight. His golden voice. The playlist, a good mix of acoustic songs from his previous albums and the current. The chords and the slight quiver as he asks the audience — myself included, to sing with him as an accompaniment. Goosebumps. Of taking part in a collective effervescence of a moment of being anywhere outside the space-time continuum, yet still being one with the set. Everything music meant — more than just lyrics or rhythm alone, more than just the sum of all its parts, more than finally seeing the only real boy I have been in a relationship with for an eternity now (without him knowing).
A regal sensation awaits for me.
2 days, 8 hours, and 18 minutes before, it already feels surreal.
And as I lay me down tonight, I close my eyes, what a beautiful sight. Sleeping to dream about you and I’m so damn tired of having to live without you.