Tedium Vitae.
February 12, 2013

I think I’m addicted to these moments; these moments within moments when you remember something you haven’t in a long time. And in that little tiny space, the memories hit you so hard it’s as if you’re reliving it all over the again. With each breath, each laugh, each touch, you’re just there. All over again. And it’s so beautiful you want to freeze time and live in that moment forever.

But then you open your eyes and it all fades away. You realize that all that’s happen was just a memory, a memory which no one remembers, but you.

So I close my eyes and drift away again. Remembering the things you forgot. Remembering the moments within the moments.

You can spend hours, and days, and weeks, and months, and years, paving bricks upon bricks, one on top of the other, making that wall. But  the thoughts will wash over as they weave themselves into angry tides, crashing against the confined spaces of your skull.

I feel the  little pieces of my life start chipping away in bits and lumps.

So I curl into bed and drift away again. I’m tired in my heart. I’m tired in my bones. I’m tired of disappointing others. I’m tired disappointing me. I’m just. Tired.

(I’m sorry I’m so hard to deal with.)

“This is why it hurts the way it hurts. You have too many words in your head. There are too many ways to describe the way you feel. You will never have the luxury of a dull ache. You must suffer through the intricacy of feeling too much.”


Slipping in Between.
December 7, 2012

The oddest things hurt me. They get stuck in my head and replay over and over.

I guess it’s true. Only the things you no longer have, and will never have, can be perfect. It only exist in your mind. So it has no flaws. No mistakes. No chance of being broken. It’s just.. Perfect

I can’t seem to get anything right anymore.


“There’s a loneliness that only exists in one’s mind. The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.”
F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby.

Nothing is Everything.
December 4, 2012

He keeps asking me what’s wrong. I smile patiently and say my pre-rehearsed line.

“Nothing. I’m fine. I promise.”

I tell myself I’m just not ready to talk about it. As though one day I might be.

He sees that something is wrong. A spark dulled by some unknown force. And so unwearyingly he sits and watches “nothing” eat up my words, hollow my bones and empty my soul.

I tell him I don’t know what’s wrong.

And it’s half true because I don’t understand it. Only that his face keeps me from the edge, barely holding it together, but away from edge.

It’s easier to pretend. To put on that quick smile that doesn’t quite reach the eyes and let those simple words slip so effortlessly from quivering lips. It makes everything better. At least for a little while. Because if they believe you, you think maybe you can believe you too. They think, “Maybe she is fine.” And as long as they believe it, you think maybe you can be.

And I’m okay with that. I prefer it. Because it’s easier than the truth. Because I don’t want anyone to know. I can’t talk about it.

(But I need you to understand that I find comfort in you. Even when you don’t know it)

“I’ll walk forever with stories inside me that the people I love the most can never hear.”
Michelle Hodkin.

A Fine Frenzy.
August 14, 2012

To be honest, I don’t know how we got here. Or why we’re here. I read and re-read our old exchanges dating back 3 years and I still don’t know. But I feel the need to clear this up.

If I were to die tomorrow, morbid as that sounds, I want at least what I am going to say here to be clear to you.

I didn’t know how to explain then. I didn’t know how to tell you that saying goodbye that first time didn’t mean I was giving up. I was tired; I wanted a break, a breather, an easy out. Because it was exhausting what we had. Truth be told, weren’t you a little tired too? Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally and whatever other –ally’s that you can come up with?

The truth is that I had to get away from myself more than I did from you.

Because I was so far from the person I needed to be. So far from the perfection that was demanded of me. The perfection that, in retrospect, I put upon myself more than anything. Because 3 years ago, I saw myself through a movie screen, a high definition, grand resolution, 10 storey high film screen that had my flaws and mistakes and slip ups sprawled across it for me to wince and bite my nails at every step along the way.

And ironically, our situation was probably the perfect recipe of a badly constructed romantic comedy that neither one of us would be caught dead watching. Except it didn’t end nearly as peachy or as corny as a romantic comedy should’ve ended. And for a very long time I found myself being stuck. Stuck because I wanted you, but I couldn’t have you.

And even though I never admitted it out loud, I clung on to the hope that we were still heading off in the same direction. That we were still sharing the same orbit, a gravitational pull that binds us together by something so much bigger that the Earth’s pull on humanity. That maybe someday, if we both don’t stray too far from the path, we might just crash into each other again.

But we have an expiration date. We did from the start. And we never really were, even though we felt so strongly and so much.

I’ll admit that you a left heartcrack so fragile that I thought no one could ever fill that dark and treacherous rift. But I will always maintain that the best mistake I ever made was at 18. Because sometimes, talking to strangers can be the best thing a girl can do.

And since we’re in the business of truth telling, I might as well; I do miss you.

I miss telling you everything. I miss talking to you about everything. Every detail, every insignificant moment, every inconsequential impulse, every trivial matter. I miss talking to you. I miss our conversations.

But at the same time, I don’t.

Because people change. Feelings change. But it doesn’t mean what we had wasn’t true or real. It just means that we’ve grown so much from who we once were. And along the way we grew apart. But I will always be grateful for you, no matter how much pain we caused each other along the way.

I’m self destructive, I’m fickle and I’m a hot bed of emotional mess (as you’ve become so well acquainted with) but I’m no longer that girl you used to know. I’m better at living with my decisions now, despite having to bear the consequences of it.

That first goodbye was not a first goodbye, my darling. That first goodbye was the goodbye. And no amount of Jack and Coke or heartache can ever change that.

I said nothing when I should have said so much. And I’m sorry for that. But we could’ve talked forever and never come to a proper close. So here I am.

“Goodbye, my almost lover,
Goodbye, my hopeless dream.”

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.

April 27, 2012

And I swore in that moment I wanted you dead. In the most selfish, self satisfying, if I can’t have you no one can kind of way.

“You know that when I hate you, it is because I love you to a point of passion that unhinges my soul.”
Julie de Lespinasse

I Can’t Find The Fight.
April 13, 2012

Have you ever wanted something, that one thing, really really bad?

Do you remember the first flush of hoping and wishing and really really really just wanting it?

Do you remember how it made you feel when it became a possibility? When after all that pining and whining when it was finally no longer something that you merely yearned for with every fibre of your being?

Do you remember what it felt like when it seemed just within your grasp? So close you could almost just reach out and take it in your hands already?

Do you remember how it felt when within seconds to having it all, it just became another broken dream?

“Wondering when the call comes, when you say it’s alright.”
John Mayer, Split Screen Sadness

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.”