all of me

You don't have to stay forever, I will understand.
Believe me, believe me

Sometimes,
I dissect things, chide myself for seeing too much into something, and discount some people's feelings.
Or what they say they feel.
(I just did it again didn't I? Haha)

Oh but really, I don't do it in a sad sort of way.
It's just sort of the way it is.


I've had a couple of conversations this year about not taking things personally.
I suppose I fancy myself the sort who doesn't.
Like, I figure, if you lie or give economical truths, then it's just something you felt you had to do. It's not like I can fault you for that,
It's not like anyone can.

I have a belief, that there will come someone with whom you can be completely comfortable with. Someone with whom you won't feel restless, with whom you won't second guess yourself or the other person.
Call me an idealist or whatever you like, but that's kinda why I don't think marriage is for everyone.
Sure, it takes work. Sure, it takes effort.
But the entire relationship ought to be built on something a bit steadier than time,
Or common interests, or a kid.

I mean, that's why living together sometimes makes heaps more sense than anything else, honestly speaking.
Because even when you've been living together for absolute ages, some part of you (albeit a tiny tiny bit) half wonders if there might come something that'll make you leave.
And it'll be okay to.

And marriage is supposed to be an entirely different ball game-
A flight where you get on, and chuck out the evacuation plan before the plane even takes off.

Minor digression, where was I again? -
That's right.
I think there'll come this one person with whom things just fit.
With whom you don't feel like you might still be in need/want,
With whom things just make sense.
And if you're not the exclusive sort, there will be just this one person with whom you'll want to be exclusive with.
If you're not the sort who likes doing laundry, you'll find you don't mind doing it for two.
Not because the other person changes you in any way at all,
But because it just sort of happens.
If you've never quite been the sort who believes, who takes people's word for it,
There'll be someone you can do that with.
Someone with whom you can fall asleep with, if you're not the sort who usually can.
Someone with whom you can sing with, despite being the sort who hates singing with people.

Or it might be one of those odd things about you-
Like dividing your Big Mac into half by splitting the two patties apart.
And someone out there's going to love you for that.

In the meantime though,
We fumble along.

So sometimes it might seem like I'm quite callous or unbothered,
But I think a lot of it is knowing your stand and how you feel about it.
And the rest of it, is really just taking it as it comes.

In my opinion anyway.


So.
I don't ever know if it'll be enough, most often I don't think it is.
But,
here's all of me.

waiting-

To be ready, to feel ready
(Even though I did, at the time)
To feel like I can,
To not be so afraid of myself

Waiting,
To trust myself again.
For someone to trust me enough
So that I can too

Waiting,
For that chance
To love the way I did, for just that week.
For strength,
The strength to hold on-
Not just to my feelings, but the chance to feel like I did.

To know,
That it wasn't, isn't, and won't be wrong.
And know,
That I was meant to. That I was meant to love the way I did,
And that I am meant to, again, one day.

So
I will wait.

come home

Exactly two years ago today,
I fell in love.


But then, I got scared.
I got scared,
Of myself, of my ability to love or the lack thereof.

And so,
I said my goodbyes and waited.
And waited,
And waited.

So sometimes, I don't know if it's just me being stupid,
Or me being stupid.
I tend to do this some mornings, think I'm right on time when I'm not. Or want to cab it halfway so I can have a pretty second busride (like today) and then get caught in a jam and end up having to cab it the entire way,
While churning out an extra six dollars, no thanks to the most unnecessary detour.

Or sometimes, I'd bus it half way, just to realize that I've taken myself further away from the route my cabbie needed to take.

Which is most daft.
I think I've done this quite a few times this week and I am just,
Completely and utterly flummoxed by the jaw-dropping stupidity of it all.
And of all times to make stupid mistakes, could I not have done it at some time that's a tad friendlier than peak-frikkin'-hour?

Jeebus.


And now. I'm a half hour early, out a twenty and did not have myself a lovely bus ride on bus 3.
Well sod it all.

So the best that'll come of this is me trying to figure out why I'm going about doing such Godawfully stupid things.

Maybe, especially in today's case, I really wanted some me-time while on a scenic bus ride down to work.
And I think in the case of the other things, I'm stuck somewhere in between having time and having none at all. But I suppose I must accept that an unexpected extra ten minutes or even twenty, is hardly anything at all.

So there we have it-
And I have just got in and out of my own head.
What do I do about it now?

Well if I need time for me, I should take it.
It can't possibly be something on my agenda/ to do list like-
1)Submit grades for xxx secondary school
2)Take 27minute bus ride and enjoy the sights of boat quay
3) Pick up cat food along the way

It's madness.
I should have time to take my time and not freaking schedule alone time.
Like, really charis, what?!

Okay,
So now that's sorted, I will stop feeling sore about the obscene amount of money that I've spent on cabs AND
Decide early on whether or not I'll cab/bus/train it.
No more half baked bullshit for me.
Especially not when there's no such thing as being too early and in any case,
The extra time can be spent zoning out and talking to snails.

And now,
Work.

anger like the doorbell to a home

Front door slams.
Shouts, hollers, slamming of bedroom doors and the thump of angry footsteps.
why didn't yous and I don't want tos spit themselves out angrily at each other.
"Why do I even come home," becomes a line casually thrown about like it doesn't hurt.

The angry slamming of remote controls against coffee tables, the sharp flipping of tv channels and the sound of faucets being turned on, running water and the pretense of washing the day off oneself.

Sometimes,
Just sometimes,
There are bigger problems than yourselves.


oh all the things that I'll keep away from

and all its joy

Monday,
Monday sounds like a plan indeed.

one last morning

You sleep like a log, the last I remember. And it was hell on earth, trying to get you up once you'd fallen asleep.
You'd be awake, the last person I said goodnight to before switching the computer off,
And then I'd text you in the morning about lunch, and you'd be awake, having pulled an all-nighter.
I'd call you crazy, stark barking mad. And you'd decide, just as school started for me, that it might be an idea to grab sleep before we met up for lunch.
And then vicky would go,
"Omgggg! We'll never meet him for lunch after school."
And we wouldn't, but we'd rearrange,
Except it never worked-
Until you slept at some kind of decently human hour.
It always seemed more possible to meet you before school even started,
I'm pretty sure we might have tried that actually.

It's seven right now, and it looks pretty much like those mornings I'd be on my way to school.
And, you're on your way.
It always takes me aback, how unchanged the rest of the world seems to be.

Sometimes, it feels like I'm clawing at the pavement, my nails scratching against concrete,
And I'm screaming, "No. Nonono, this is my life. THIS is my life."
If we could hold on longer to everything that we know, I'm pretty sure we would.
I'm frustrated at how unchanged the world is, while you sit,
knitting all that you have left together.

People groan at the sound of their alarm going off, they stand at the bus stops taking long drags off their rapidly yellowing cigarette,
Students think about the algebra quiz they've got lined up after recess and the lit paper they haven't finished, hating their life for what it is.

And I sit in an empty prata shop, waiting for you,
And wishing desperately that this wasn't what it is.

A huge part of me wants time to draw itself out painfully slowly.
For once, I don't mind sitting here waiting- if it means that time is extending itself and you're getting more of it.

I must make this all sound terrifyingly melodramatic, the sod that I am.
It didn't strike me how much it meant, to see you just this one more time before, until I almost couldn't. And it hurt, that single moment.
Everything spilling out like I wouldn't, couldn't contain it. I didn't know what I would do, and I felt like I was close to crumpling up in the middle of a mall.

But,
Things work out, as they do sometimes.
And I am here waiting.

It's twenty to eight, in this empty prata shop.
There's the smell of morning, the buzz of motorbikes, the gasp and sigh of buses loading up on passengers,
And I am here.
Waiting.

Some part of me wishing that you'll text to say,
"I'm damn sleepy," in that way you do, and,
"Can we meet after you're done with school instead?"

Baby, you have no idea.

But I figure, y'know,
It's certainly going to be a lot less painful if one stops clawing at the pavement as we get hauled away by our ankles.
And I suppose, you already knew this too.

my sunday

Left me with a fuckload to deal with.

Hello brain,
Have fun wrapping yourself around all of this.


and my kids, there'll be shit for them to deal with. But this won't be one of em.
Thanks a lot.

baby.

Suddenly everything pales in comparison,
Suddenly you find yourself wondering when the ground beneath you will give out-
And if you sort of expected it to anyway.

You're going away.
And fuck, I hate being such a sodding baby about this but,
You're going away.

I hate how it ends up coming to this;
People clawing at the minutes and seconds that you have left and bracing yourself for that moment when you know,
You know you'll have to let go.

But you can't fight it, you never can.
And yet it's not as simple as taking it as it comes,
Letting yourself get used to it.
How can you brace yourself for something you can hardly even begin to imagine?


It's not so much what's happened, or what will, or what can or cannot be undone.
That's all something that one will eventually figure out in time.
What gets me, is that it's you.
And there's so much more to you than this. And I wish, with all that I am, that you wouldn't have to go through what you will.
Maybe it's because I know you. Maybe it's because I know some part of you wished you hadn't.
I'm not saying that the world should be allowed to get away with whatever they fancy,
That isn't quite it.
I'm just wishing it could be just that bit easier on you.


And I think about you,
The person that you were, are and will be. And I think,
Who are we, who is anybody to pass judgement. To say what is fair or just.
And then, and then, I don't know what to think anymore.


You will be okay.
I know you will. But God I will miss you. Just like I've missed you this entire time I haven't seen you.
But the promise of tomorrow might just be worth waking up for.
And surprises,
They work best when you close your eyes.

alone with your thoughts isn't always the safest place to be

I was not prepared in the least for the onslaught of emotion that found itself resurfacing this afternoon.
And I think that became a factor in the resulting immense irritation I felt at myself.

Yes, that's the word for the feeling that trumped the lot-
Immense irritation.

The morning was nice, what with breakfast and saying Hello to Wallaby (I've refused to deal with the recent news of his eventual departure)
Lunch wasn't really in the plan, but it was one of those very pleasant surprises.
So yes, everything's been fine and dandy and then,
This.

And I'm over it now, that teary bit of my afternoon.
And in its place is this resentment and incredible annoyance at having so suddenly been caught feeling the way I did, not having the words for it,
And sort of having it spill over a bit.
Eurgh.

Maybe for the first time, work spilt over.
It linked, blurred lines and even though I tried to work, to fix it-
Tried to deliberately push past the ache, and wrench all that was real for myself and use it, use it to make it all better (both the work and the mess of feeling),
it didn't work.
It just didn't bloody work.

And maybe my annoyance and self-loathing stemmed from this,
This being taken aback and feeling all butterfinger-like.
And not being able to take the fact that, for once,
My thoughts and feelings turned.
And I couldn't do one.sodding.thing.

Maybe

Maybe I'll forget
How much you meant to me
And how you were almost my baby
Maybe


It's one of those days I think I might've run out of words.

Three minutes past Friday

My eyes are unbelievably sore and
I.am.so.tired.

I said my goodnights nearly an hour ago, and yet, I'm still sitting in front of Kirsten.
Actually, honestly,
I had work to do. Kid you not.

Well, I have work to do.
Except,
I settled down for a good read, albeit online. Haven't done that in a while.


But yes, still fully aware of work that is due. And how I should, most definitely, get that sorted.
Soon.
I need it done by tomorrow morn.


God.
I am tired.


So talk about my most recent trip (which oddly enough feels both recent and far away at the same time) got me thinking about the whole getting away thing.
The swelling on my face hasn't even gone down yet. wow whee!

But yes,
getting away for a bit.

A couple of my best friends have booked their tickets to Bangkok, and I was supposed to go with. Except, what with work and all.
Then I'm looking at going later/coming back earlier. something. I don't know.
But then, that's just it.
I don't know.

I miss Bird. And I'm incredibly tempted to hop on to a weekend flight just to see her.
I feel more likely to do that than Bangkok.
Odd isn't it?


My Fridays, they always leave me reeling.
And mostly, I'm not even aware that it's the weekend. The weekends sort of just feel like an extention of my week, and I'm often left a bit dazed.
By the time it's properly sunk in that it's the weekend, it's a Sunday afternoon and my Monday's dressed and waiting for me.

I love what I do.
I do, with every bit of me.


But then, half way through my second school, my fourth class of the day,
right in the middle of class, I tasted my frikkin' throat in my mouth. It's this Godawful taste of (quite literally) my throat wearing itself out.
Then you might say,
"Well that makes you a terrible drama trainer doesn't it, if you're SO all about voice projection and such!"
But there's voice projection, and there's, being at a constant and consistently loud volume, all.the.time. And it scared me, for a bit, that funky taste in my mouth.
It's not a first.

And ugh, my throat hurts.
And I, am just a little bit,
y'know,
tired.
Just a little bit.

Physically, that is.
And we can always fix physical. And I wish I weren't so tired, especially when it doesn't feel like I've been doing very much.
But oh well. I'd best suck it up, get over it, so I can sort the rest of my shit out.

Because I will do that.

Today is odd.
And not in an easy-to-swallow sort of way.

I guess I am flexible to a certain extent, but I really don't like schedules/plans changing at the drop of a hat.
rawr.

whywhywhyyyyyyyyy.
This is infuriating!

you

Are amazingly brilliant
an unbelievably beautiful person, inside and out
Are stronger than you believe
Are soft, sweet, sentimental
The loveliest thing

Aren't even aware of it sometimes

coming home

to the shrieks of laughter and tiny feet thumping against wooden floors.
To put on bossanova while I shower, and Andre Bocelli as I move about the kitchen.
to pick a couple of fruits out of my basket and try a new smoothie that'll match with dinner, hum to myself as I wipe my hands on my apron and pop cherry toms into my mouth unthinkingly.

Pause for the briefest moment, to run my fingers over the picture smiling at me from where it's taped, before pulling open the refrigerator door.
Wrinkle my nose at the week old half bottle of red, and decide against using it in the cooking because it's only a Monday night.

Step on a piece of lego that's found its way to the floor of the kitchen,
And curse silently while I hobble over to the sink.
Lean against cabinets and counters, and smile at the memory of picking them out.

To feel myself skip, just a bit, at the sound of a second car pulling into the driveway.
Getting to the door, throwing it open.

To you,
coming home to me.

because-

Oh,
You may just have enough of me to break

i am afraid-

That if I don't find a better balance, then on days away from work, I'd be left feeling listless, restless and like maybe I should just go back to doing work.

Let's face it, the world's not going to stop moving just because one's not in it.
And it might be a good idea to sometimes, just sometimes, get off my safe, steady, consistent forever,
To come back to what has and will always be there.

Even as I've stood in the middle of my world, the very ground underfoot has shifted, the scenery changed,
And I haven't even been aware.

I am afraid.

Because when people said slow down, you're moving too fast,
It never made any sense.
I wasn't moving too fast, bloody hell.

With work, and what I do-
I love it, and I know where I'm going with it. I know what I'm doing,
How to fix things, how to find my way around.
I know where I am severely lacking, where I need to work harder,
What's missing, what is already there.
I know it. I know it with everything that makes up my very being.
But then,
There is real life.
And it is everything that catches you off guard. Life is the shaky ground you're left to stand on when the concrete of your dreams,wants and ambitions collapse beneath everything you thought you were, everything you think you are.

I'm not moving too fast, chasing dreams, climbing ladders or building careers.
I am staying home, working with all that my body knows.

And when I take my final bow before the curtains fall,
I know that I am stepping out of a world we created. I am stepping away from lies, lines, character motivations, conflict and a tangle of mixed feelings.
I am stepping out of, and away from and I can breathe.
Life, however, doesn't always promise me that.

I am afraid because real life never seems to make half as much sense and although I've never fancied myself the sort who runs away,
I don't want to find out too late, that I have spent so much time out of real life,
That it's just packed up and left altogether.

I don't want to find myself so far away,
That there's nothing left for me here. Because it'd only be my fault.

And the only thing I'll be left with,
Is an empty stage, a theatre filled with an audience that isn't there and the clinking of keys that'll tell me
It's time to switch off the house lights.

tired

Zonked.drained.emptied.
Tired.

I have absolutely no idea how I did today. I've been on the go ever since half six in the morning; if not mentally, then physically, and if I'm not physically moving, then I am being moved (in a cab. I did not take any other mode of transport this entire day. Cab count: 5, 3 of them were booked.)
It was my ride around singapore day, I kid you not!

Hougang-tampines-boon lay-potong pasir-hougang-lor lew lian- east coast road- hougang.

Surely, surely, loyal cab-riders such as myself deserve some kind of reward!

And I am just, so, so tired right now- that I feel like sitting and sorting out my script. (It's madness I know)
But only because it sort of settles me, steadies me, gives me an odd sense of calm. Helps me know that I don't need to move around anymore. I am done.
I.Am.done.


Oooor, I think I might just curl up instead. The two cups of 3in1 coffee are working their magic and I'm feeling all comfy and dozy(:

Chasing Epiphanies was a lovely event with a fun crowd. Not a very shopping-y crowd, save for Enqing.
But a fun crowd all the same.


Some alone time will do me good I think.
I did have a bit, Thursday, right after Kuo Chuan, but then I couldn't sit in it for long enough.
The pockets of time every so often are nice and refreshing. But I'd like to sit still, just for a bit.
The world moves too fast and I hate feeling like I always have to be moving with it.

Goodnight, all you furry people(:

in all the places people forget to look

On days like today,
I wish you'd come back to me.
Even though I know it's the most selfish thing I could ever ask for.

"Could I stay a while?" "Stay forever."

a venture as romantic as an open wound, seamless as a patchwork quilt, fragrant as an alley after hours.
-- Rebecca Wolf

Try to stick two smooth sides together and you’ll find you can’t. They won’t hold because they’ve got nothing to hold onto. You also can’t put a smooth side against a top or a bottom because the pegs won’t catch. But you put the top and the bottom together – the parts of a Lego block you don’t get to see, the parts that you’re supposed to hide – you get a fit. Holds pretty well too.
-- Glenn


I don't believe I've felt like this before.
No, not like this,
I haven't.
It's a nice feeling, I must say. And I could stay put for a while longer.

life is exactly what we don't plan for

I was supposed to have left by now.


I think things are only as complicated as we make it out to be.




No.
You know what? No.
I will finish my script over tonight and tomorrow night.

conversation

"So, go." She says, looking me square in the eye, back straightened, legs crossed.
She's drumming her fingers on the wooden surface of the table.
I really like wood;
The smell, the feel of it. The way it makes me feel.
You know that, don't you? I've wandered into places with you, drawn in purely by the smell. I'd run my fingers over furniture, and I always say the same thing,
"You know, I absolutely love wood."

She clears her throat and I look up, startled, to see her staring at me, waiting.
"I, uhm" Faltering, I take the tiniest step backwards.

"You can't, can you now?" Her tone has softened, and she leans back to light herself a Menthol Light. "I'd say I told you so, but," she sighs, tapping her cigarette against the hand-painted clay dish she uses as an ashtray, "if I got a dollar for every time I said that, I'd be able to get me a year's supply of these-" raises an eyebrow at the neat little roll of paper between her fingers.

My eyes follow the odd little patterns in the carpeted floor, refusing to rummage through my tangle of thoughts and give her the answers she's probing for.
The room's gone cold, and I realize with a start, that she's got all the time in the world. She would have absolutely no qualms with waiting me out, just for my bloody answers.
"I," I begin, stop and breathe, try again.
"I, don't know what to feel."
"But how does it feel, right now?"
I shoot her a puzzled look, taste the words on my tongue before repeating myself, slowly.
"Good God!" She snaps, "I'm not a half-baked moron you twit, I understood what you said the first time. I'm asking how.this.feels." She reaches for another smoke, fidgets with it instead of lighting up, and waits for my answer.

"I, uh." She nods and I focus my eyes on the plant behind her, pretend that I can count the veins on each leaf.
"Well this, whatever this is- bits of it are a tiny bit painful, and sometimes, a tad hard to swallow." She pushes her box of Menthol Lights across the mahogany table, toward me, sets her box of matches in the middle of the box.
I give the smallest shake of my head, my right thumb tracing circles on the back of my left hand.

"It's a bit painful, but I'm not in a position to feel. At least," I pause, shifting my weight from one foot to the other,
"I don't think I was supposed to."

"And how might you feel about that?" She asks me, tapping her unlit cigarette against the edge of her table.

"Like...Like it's really my fault," I pause as she raises her eyebrows at me.
"For, y'know," I breathe, "feeling too much."

She reaches for her box of matches, strikes one and raises it up to the cigarette resting between her lips. Waving the match to extinguish the flame, she tosses it into the ashtray, and leans back in her chair to inhale.
"Well," she lifts her chin by an infinitesimal amount, expels her smoke upwards, "you know where the door is darling."

I nod and turn myself away, as she watches me.
Watches me run away from myself.

Dialogue In The Dark

I woke from the most bizarre dream this morning. It was nightmarish, but not in the scary sort of way-
More like, I don't think I'd like to have that conversation/situation to happen in real life.


Dialogue In The Dark was, eye-opening to say the least (pun completely unintended).
There was such an immense amount that one got out of it;
The acceptance of the sudden dependency, the need to trust-
Not just the guide who you don't know, or the group around you that you do know, but yourself.
Trusting yourself, your sixth sense, whichever. Just, trusting yourself.
And that was a big thing for me.

I guess the point for me was to lose myself entirely in this completely unfamiliar world,
And finding joy in little bits, such as figuring out certain letters and numbers,
Or figuring out what a particular object was.

That was the take this morning,
And my word it was interesting.

Noooow, post meeting,
I'm finding myself on slightly shaky ground. And wondering if maybe, there's something I might be able to do better for my kids.
Mmmm.

and I find myself wanting

You, and the oddest things we've talked about
jafacakes on a Tuesday evening, lemonade on a summer afternoon, large frosted-glass sinks, that picnic table that doubles as a bench, bedtime stories, Saturday morning, home-cooked dinners, family time,
and you.


It's nice to daydream, it always is isn't it? But then you smile and put it away in that box labelled, "Maybes & Whatifs", and you go about real life.
Except,
it's sort of a little bit different.
Because, for once, it feels like I almost could.
And I can't see that far ahead of me, I don't know how or if or when or where or even why,
but it's nice to think that maybe, just maybe,
there might be a sliver of truth to it.


So there's been a shifting of floors beneath our feet. Sometimes, you only realize it as you read through your writing that's spanned the last three months.
But yes well, there is/has been/will be a bit of change and,
I'm not entirely sure of how I feel.

I think in regards to some things, I just don't know.
That's not to say that if I did, I would understand either.
I guess, I'm just not familiar with such a situation or the dynamics of it, or uhm, whatever else it is. I believe I would like to, but I don't ever feel like I'm in a position to ask or wonder or, well anything.

I think it makes me insecure (for lack of a more fitting term) -
this whole, not knowing exactly how I feel. And I've tried to place it, believe me I have.
But nothing seems to work.
Usually, by this point, I'd have walked away from it-
the whole trying-to-place-how-i-feel thing, the whole this-might-hurt-abit,
and more than anything, the whole I'm-feeling-too-much.
So I can't say this is something I am entirely familiar with, this tangled mess of thoughts. And sometimes, I don't quite know what to do with myself.


I will fall asleep to pretty dreams though,
and the thought of Sunday evening's company.

break your little heart

Not that I understand, or need to

I can't quite place this feeling, and I wish I could word it-
Believe me I do.

Maybe my problem is that always try to justify how I feel,
Try to dissect and analyze it.

Whatever the case,
Until I feel like tearing it apart and sifting through it and su

ch,


I
just won't.

----

I'm just a bit away from the office. It's obscene, but I'm thinking about what I could do.

I love what I do-
Making people believe.
And whichever side you're on, on stage or in the audience,
You know what you're in for-
Getting drawn into something you know isn't real,
Or doing all you can to have someone believe that what you're saying/doing isn't a lie.

And then if you think about it carefully,
You'd figure that whichever side you're on, the only person you've been lying to,
Is yourself.

c'mon baby we ain't gonna live forever

come with me tonight,
we can make the night last forever

SO.
It's the first I've planned and organized a company retreat-
I've gotten everything down to the last half hour, with a fifteen minute buffer time for every.single.thing. I quite like how my anal-ness/ocd/whathaveyou come in quite handy sometimes(:
Of course, at the same time, I'm pretty sure things won't ever go just so.
But then there's the other side of me,
The lets-just-zone-out-for-a-week-side of me, so I won't be jumping around making us do like, eeeeverything.

We're headed to Batam this morning, hopefully without running into crowds and such.
It's a shame that sometimes not everyone's as hopped up as you are,
But to a certain extent, I kinda get it.
We've all been on the flip side of the coin at some point, haven't we?

So we're all checked in, and our manager seems infinitely more frazzled.
I feel, sorta, well I don't know.
I'm the only one sitting down and typing, for starters.
Hahaha.
It's so funny, all of it.

Lalala.

I had time for breakfast with The Little Creature this morning before we went on our way. I like(:

I don't know what to expect today, despite having planned it all.
But I suppose a lot of this unexpectedness makes up most of our life.

And sometimes,
All you can do, is take things as they come.

And hope it doesn't hurt

It's half past eight.
She's just finished work, pleased with herself and what she's done.
Crowds of pre-university students find themselves on the same bus and she fleetingly wonders what it'd feel like to be one of them.
Fleetingly though, because she likes where she is and where she stands,
And what she does.

It's half past eight.
There is an appointment to rush to.
One that has been put from mind and delayed, simply because she hasn't found a reason to go.
Not one some things can fix themselves, not when there are far more important things to worry about,
Not when there it is time that can honestly be better put to use.

It's half past eight.
She's taken meds without dinner, and there is an old man in front of her,
Sucking contentedly and thoughtfully on his denchures.

It's half past eight.
A kid from Junior College sits beside her, dozing.
His book is open to a chapter titled "The contradictory in Mathematics".
As if maths weren't confusing enough, why in the world would anyone want to read about things that make it more confusing?

It's half past eight.
Except, it's not really, not anymore.
It's almost quarter to nine now.
And she should've been rushing home to you. She should've been rushing home to you hours ago.
But you're not here for her to rush home to.
You're not here.

So.
It's a quarter to nine, and that place she always goes to when days like these get too hard,
It passes her on her way to wherever it is she's going.
For whaatever her reason is.

And she's not even sure of it, her reasons for going.
For once, she wanted someone to tell her what to do because,
Maybe if she hadn't had to make the decision herself, and factor in oh-so many things,
She wouldn't feel the way she's feeling now.

It's nine.
And she finds herself at a lonely little bus stop near a park she's been to a few times now.
She should go.
Because, because someone told her to go. Because deciding something for herself hasn't always been the best idea.
Because this time, she wants to listen to someone.

Except,
She's gotten off the bus, and let empty cabs pass her by.
And even though it's been decided for her,
She still doesn't quite know what to do.

But this moving world, it keeps on moving.
It keeps on moving and it's left her behind until she can think about what she wants to do with herself.
And my God, working out figures and timings and schedules and itineraries was infinitely easier than doing this one, simple task.

It's nine.
She should've been rushing home to you. She should've been rushing home to you hours ago.
Except you're not here and she isn't, she isn't rushing home to you even though she wishes desperately that she were.
You're not here, and it's one of those days that she realizes that,
She doesn't quite know what to do with herself.

And even though, this evening, she was supposed to do as she was told,
She finds that she can't.
Not quite. And not in a way that she can explain.

It's quarter past nine.
And oh she wishes she were going home to you. That she were worrying herself sick, hoping to God that you're okay.
That she knew exactly where she was going and exactly what to do because,
Because you were the only reason worth living for.

But,
It's twenty past nine and you're not here and she has no idea where she's going.
but she is moving, weaving through throngs of faceless people,
Feeling like she is inches away from disappearing.

Unfortunately though, she doesn't.

Then, it's almost half past nine,
And she wonders just how much it'll take,
To find herself rushing back to you.

August

Sometimes this ache, I don't know if I can take it.