March 10, 2013

Some moments in life bring me more clarity than others.

The hazy daze I’m floating in prevents me from sleeping though my body desperately needs it.

“Does it feel like you’re in control?” she asks.

Her familiar voice brings me comfort.

“Yes?” I reply timidly.

“Yes?” she repeats with the same tone of debatable certainty in her voice.

“Yes,” I say with more force. More assurance. More confidence.

“Good,” she smiles.

I’m not even sure if I was trying to convince her or myself. I mirror the smile nevertheless and a silence falls between us.

“But are you?” she asks, shattering the silence that sits between us so smugly.

“Not at all,” I chuckle.

“Good,” she smiles complacently. And just like that, she disappears without a trace. As if she’s made her point and there was nothing more to say.

I sigh to myself.

How long before it’s too long?

How far before it’s too far?

I’m not crazy. Really.

I’m aware that having a conversation with someone who’s not there might fall under some mental health grey area, but I find this need to sometimes seek you out. Talk to you like you’re still here. Imagine what you’d say when you caught me having a moment.

I’m not lonely either. Not really.

My heart is full and occupied, I have no more need for you, but I’m holding on to you like a child holding on to the toy they’ve had since they could remember because it’s comfortable. Familiar. Easy.

I just want to keep you for as long as I can. Is that really so much to ask?

“Isn’t it funny how day by day nothing changes, but when you look back, everything is different.”
C.S. Lewis.


The Things You’d Rather Forget.
August 23, 2012

I just keep thinking about that night, that ride back.

The god awful smell of ‘herb’ and spice and the not so subtle sour twinge of sweat. The alternating light and dark as we zoomed past streetlights. The stillness or about as much of you that you can get riding around Kuala Lumpur in an old taxi cab in the wee hours of the morning. The annoying whir of the engine groaning and our steady breaths. Your head on my shoulders. Contentedness.

But I find the details slipping from me too quickly.

I don’t think I even remember your face anymore.

And I keep listening to the songs that make you remember the things you’d rather forget.

It’s been two years.

I miss you.

“This is to a girl who got into my head,
With all the pretty things she did.”

May 31, 2012

There are good days and there are bad days.

Some days, it’s easier to laugh it off.

Other days, not so much.

And those are the days that are spent being so incoherently sad that there are no other words more suitable or appropriate to describe it. You’re just. Sad.

“People fall so in love with their pain, they can’t leave it behind. The same as the stories they tell. We trap ourselves.
Chuck Palahniuk.

May 30, 2012

I jerked awake, my phone buzzing beneath my pillow, anchoring me to reality. I hit the stop button, the first time in weeks, instead of the snooze button and instinctively reach up to touch my face. Dampness. From sweat? Tears? A combination of both?

It was a dream, I told myself. And it’s weird and I can’t begin to literate it, even in my mind while it’s so fresh, but I remember you. Your face. An image I desperately cling to as if I knew I was never going to see you again. As if you were secretly saying your final goodbye with the painted smile on your face, young and fresh but so full of pain. And there was a voice in the back of my head, yelling for me to do something, anything, to stop you. As is a part of me  deep down, knew what you were about to do.

Awake and free from the fog and the blurriness of dream, I think it must have been what it was like for you in your last moments, your mind made up and unchangeable.

If my face had not been damp from tears then, the realization that it wasn’t something that I was afraid you’d do, but something that you’d done, brought upon a wave of tears from within that I couldn’t stop. The kind that rouses something primal from within that you cannot contain and spills over without any vestige of control.

I lay there. Completely immobilized. A pathetic lump of tears and fears and shadows of the past creeping into the present.

And that was when it hit me. Or grazed against me, more like. The lightest breeze that carried you, your smell. And I had to double, treble check that you weren’t actually there next to me. And as swiftly as it came, it left, like dust in the morning light as your eyes adjusted to the rays of the newborn sun.

I barely had the time. Barely any time at all to seek it’s touch. Inhale it fully. Revel in the precious wave of something that was so profoundly you. I ‘m not making sense. But I sense you around me today.

“By now, you should know enough about loss to realize that you never really stop missing someone – you just learn to live around the huge gaping hole of their absence ”
Alyson Noel, Evermore.

Happy Birthday.
January 20, 2012

Not for the first time, I opened my eyes this morning, wishing you were here. You weren’t. It was just another product of my imagination condemned to be felt just in the deepest corners of my mind.

I laid in bed this morning, wishing I were where you are. I’m not. And it’s awful to know that while your imagination is taking you to a place in which you want to be, the bitter cold of the morning nips your skins telling you condescendingly that it’s time to face the reality you don’t want to encounter; that you’re holding on to something that’s gone.

The silence that greeted me was clear and loud. And I think for the first time in all the years that we have played this push and pull, I am thankful for this silence.

I don’t know where you are, or what you’re doing. You’re on your own now. Completely independent from me. And I from you.

And then sharp pain stabs at me because I remember how much I wanted you. And not like full of sex, or like baking cakes or watching films or the usual soppy shit. I wanted to be able to read a book on the sofa while you watched the telly, and just be utterly comfortable. I wanted you to laugh at me when I’m singing to the radio or when I’m just laying on the bed depressing as fuck after having a shit day. I wanted to be able to go on walks at like 3 o clock in the morning, watch the stars until the sun comes up, and then we can realize how insignificant we are.

And for a brief moment, the silence hurts more than anything.

But then I remind myself that I need this silence. And the pain ebbs away.

Three years ago, I never would have imagined someone’s silence would be able to have such an influence in my life. Two years ago, this silence would have killed me. A year ago, within the silence, I wondered how differently our story would have played out had you have not found me and gotten me so hung up on you.

I still do. I wonder every now and again. Would my story have played out any differently? Would I have met someone else? Would I have the courage to want what I want today? Would what I want be any different if I had spent all my time talking to other people that weren’t you?

These are just some things I will never know.

“Happy Birthday. I love you, whoever you would’ve been.”

Counting Hours.
January 12, 2012

I find myself avoiding the radio like the plague when I’m driving. Mostly because the more tolerable songs on the airwaves today are predominantly written about love and love mostly reminds me about you.

I’ve always felt like such an idiot when it came to love. Or you know, affection, adoration, matters of the heart, whatever the romantics call it. And it’s all so much harder now because I don’t think I know who I am anymore. I don’t think I’ve ever had a clear handle of who I am truth be told. Not the way I did when I was with you anyway.

And now I’m left with nothing but what I remember of those late nights and stolen moments that I took care to ensure I have etched into the corners of my mind.

I know nothing now but the way you whispered my name, the way the words of gilded hopes and desires rolled off your tongue, the way the morning light danced upon your face, the way your crooked smile could have my breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat as I rush to memorize the moment and have them seared into the back of my eyelids.

A tilt of the head, a flick of the wrist, a furrow of the eyebrow, all burned into my mind, never to leave.

And it was a slow burn too. It wasn’t a wild fireball set ablaze by involuntary combustion, it didn’t burn bright and high until it faded into the stillness that swallows it but a kind of fiery, a kind of effervescent in all its breathlessness and I hated that I had to clear my throat to speak when you so much raised a glass to your lips.

It was slow and it was cautious and it was deliberate.

But then you were gone. Like smoke and ghost. Leaving me with images of crinkled sheets and half smoked cigarettes; winded and confused, trying to convalesce my heart from the jetlag  and untangle myself from lying awake in the mid of night mentally calculating the time differences.

No, love songs about distanced lovers definitely could not have hit a more inopportune spot under the belt.

“What time is it where you are?
I miss you more than anything.”