might i be allowed

To love you?
Because I could, for a quite a while.
And I sort of like that thought

the inside of the cave is cold, dark but it's not sad. not now.

"What are you doing, fool!"
There is a laugh of disbelief, "Trying, is all."
"You never used to, never used to even want to."
"I know."

Sometimes, we say things.

I wish I could read minds,
Read thoughts, read hearts,
Read you, right now.
But I can't.

I don't even know where to begin, to be honest. I'm not entirely sure if this distance is altogether physical or emotional. I happen to think it pretty much both actually.
And I don't know about you, but I'd like to fix it.
Except.
Well last night didn't really get anyone very far, I don't think.

Sometimes we say things, open boxes, rummage about.
Then, contents left spilling, we climb into bed,
figuring we'll just sort it out in the morning.
Sometimes, we say things.
And we don't do anything with that, aside from leaving it hanging over your head.

I wish (stop using that word Charis, fucking pansy)
Okay.

Okay,
I want to know where I'm going wrong here. And I don't think there's much use in pointing out what I/we think is going wrong if there doesn't seem to be anything we'd like to do with that information.

Mostly, I want to stop feeling like this. Not because I need things to be fine and dandy all the time,
(And maybe I'm trying too hard or not hard enough) But because I don't know how else to reach you.
And honestly,
That's how I'm missing you right now.
Quite a bit at that.


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How far do I have to go, to get to you?

"Where'd she go?"
"Took a trip man"
"Fer rel?"
"Took off. Took off running. Til she realized the only thing she was running from was what she needed to sit down and have a chat with."
"And then?"
"So then she came back."
"Oh?"
"You betcha. And she be dancing at bus stops now, music in her ears. I think she might be happy."
"Or mad."
"Or that, true. But it's not answers she needed see, she never needed answers. She just needed to know for sure. Even if she was sure about not being sure. Solid ground- that's what that girl needed. And when the most solid thing in the world starts feeling shaky, heck I'd run too."
"Yeah. I guess you would hey. So then, how'd the mess she had fix itself?"
"Well, I don't even know if it's fixed yet. But just finally facing up and talking about it, as opposed to talking about talking about it. Y'know what I mean?"
"Yeah. But so like, that's it? She just needed to frikkin' talk?"
"Naw man. She needed to talk, but she also needed to know she could still talk. And I guess it worked for her, finding out that talking still came easily and honestly with- well, a particular person."
"A particular person?"
"Yeah"
"A particular person?"
"Yeah, who she'd felt a long way off from in the last what, three or so months?"
"Oh. Okay."
"Yeah, but news is- the air's cleared. And I think it's always nice to be able to breathe again."
"You got that right."
"Yeah, so uh. The coffee machine's dead."
"Is it? Bloody hell, I've been waiting a half hour for non existent coffee."
"We all do that sometimes I suppose. But then, I'll bet the coffee tastes better when it finally does come."
"For sure."

"So."
"So, I'm heading out for my morning fix then. How bout I pick you one up too?"
"Sounds like a plan."
"Does it now?"
"Yeah, and not just cos you're buying either."
"I'll figure out a reply to that later. Meanwhile, the world could do with seeing a couple of blokes in suits dancing at bus stops don't you think?"
"The world could do with seeing a whole load of blokes dancing at bus stops, but I figure, someone's gotta start it."

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C'mon baby we're gonna live forever

Come with me tonight, we can make the night last forever.

You're in a folder marked Forever & Ever. You're written on pages that smell of secondary school, taste of tears. Written on the underneath of built-in desks, on the walls of rooms, on the front and the back of notebooks,

written on skin.

Sometimes it feels like we've gotten a move on with the rest of our lives, and honestly,

for the most part anyways,

it's quite scary.

But then I pull out sheets of lined paper, dreamt-up nonsense handwritten on it.

And I realize,

at the end of the day,

there's always going to be you guys.

Don't mind my nerves

I like how songs remind us of different times and phases in our lives.
How it works, magically almost, to bring you back and fit you in the exact place. Where you can feel the carpet beneath your feet, hear the wind in your ears, smell the air and almost, almost taste it on your tongue.

I like how songs take you places.
But sometimes,
you find yourself setting it on repeat, and no one's quite figured out if that's a good or a bad thing just yet.

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Sometimes

I wish an awful lot that I was alright

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it's been so long, I can't believe it hasn't been longer

I weaned myself off what used to be an entire list of my daily reads. I wanted to know, but at the same time, it didn't seem to be doing me very much good.

Then here I am, almost a year on and.

On one hand, I can't believe it's been so long. They've grown so much already, in this short space of time.
On the other hand, it almost feels like, "that's it? That's all that's passed?"

I
I don't know what to feel anymore sometimes. And I don't want to indulge myself in the sad sappy party that I can sometimes become, all by myself.

So.
I'm finally on my way home now.
But it's one of those days where I half wonder why I left because,
Because at least in the office, I'd know what to do with myself.

I'm taking my writing some place else.
Not because I'm so teary eyed I can't think. Not because I'm teary eyed at all come to think of it.
But because this evening,
I sort of really need to.

I wanted so to have you, and I wanted you to know

You,

are the most perfect thing to fall asleep to

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What is up with these people?

Okay.
So.
I've had the most seemingly normal of people say the most bizarre/ weird things.

And I'm just thinking,
Ahmahgad, where do you guys come from!

I must admit that I am a tad unnerved.
And considering I have a decent level of tolerance for weird/forward/down right crude,
That's saying quite a bit already no?

Strange little people. Most odd indeed.

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It's like picking up trash in dresses

So I thought of you in church today. Of going together, to either of ours.

Of having days where we might just go on our own, and then come home for lunch.

Of all the things I somehow feel with you.

So. I finished it. And dropped into Dropbox.

And then,

I just lay my head on the table-

my chest pounding, my fingers cold,

my head knowing that I've still got something else to finish.

For the first fifteen minutes after wrapping that up, I really didn't quite know what to do with myself. I sat in the pantry of my office, and just, stilled myself for a bit.

It's 6:21 on a Sunday evening. I've just got to finish up this last bit and I'll be off for home.

It's just this last little bit.

Really.

I sorta think we could both do with a bit of a getaway, right about now.

This is all I work for--

"I loved the most dramatic part of my script because when I was saying the part, I felt that I am the only one left in the world."
- Xie Di Kai, Secondary One

My kid wrote this in his feedback form.
It still gets me, even though I've read it over and over again.
And I realize,
This is why I'm here.

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Think sappy thoughts

"Did your heart ever want to ask something, but your head was too afraid of what the answer might be?"

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Surely, I will make it through this week alive

So. I was ten minutes short of a full four hours when the kids started looking superbly uncomfortable.
As it turns out, we were supposed to have started at One (I arrived at 12.55noon, thinking we'd start at half past one and didn't go to the room until then) and ended at half past four ( I don't even know how that makes up four hours, maybe it's me?!)

Okay. So nevermind.
It's the last session anyway. I just don't fancy the idea of having overrun by a full freaking hour.

Erika sent a couple of texts that had me feeling quite a bit better this afternoon. That and the class I suppose. (Funny how you can run away from work by doing more work.)

Then my sad christmas song comes on and I just.have.no.idea.what.to.do.with.myself.

This is impossible.
I don't know what's going on with today, or with me. Or if it's today or just me or all the things I've been blocking out and picking today to come out and make me feel all these things.

On a somewhat different (but sorta related) note-
I had breakfast with mommy this morning (come to think of it, that was the last time I ate) and well I started on the subject of being here. Like, being-being here.
And what she thought, and what she made of it and what (and where) she saw me.
Sometimes it makes sense. Well, makes more sense.
And then sometimes, I can't even begin to think about it.

But you see, Home is where you make it out to be- at least for the most part. I think what you feel about the place counts a whole lot, I really do.
And maybe I'm still only just getting used to/getting over the idea that UK/the States don't necessarily have to be where I end up in the long run.
Basically, at the same time, I'm sort of weighing things out in a way I've never done before.

So this conversation thing (it wasn't very in-depth at all really, just a casual mention), I was thinking about it a bit as I worked through my mess somewhere between 10.58am and 1.30 in the afternoon.

I don't know where I stand or what I'm thinking right now.

But I'll go sit somewhere, get myself a coffee and do work.
Or get myself a new piercing.
And do work of course.

I'm thinking about it.

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"Do you think I could stay?" She asked

It's like I'm on this slope, and I've slipped a bit over the last couple of weeks. It's like I'm moving upward by infinitesimal amounts, and falling back by leaps and bounds.

I ran away. I bladed, did muay thai. Tried desperately to find myself. I didn't actually hit rock bottom, but in the sanctuary of my office toilet, I sought respite.
And then I started again. Or tried. Or am trying.

Except it just feels like, every so often I'm pushing against some kind of firm, gentle but impossibly solid invisible force. I'm trying to make my way up this slope but it's so bloody difficult.
I don't want to let myself slip back down, and so I fight that too. But fighting against either direction proves tiring work. And so, I want to just stop. Not sit down and rest, but just hang on- my fingers clutching at sharp, awkward edges, my nails caught and cutting into dirt.
I can do with this taking a long while, but it's too long a way down to fall. So I'd like to stay here.

And then,
And then I find that as I hold on, just hold on without moving or fighting even, I'm pulled down by the weight of myself.
It's like, I need to, I'm forced to do something.
-------------

Even in the cab, I'm doing something-
Prepping myself for the class I'm on my way to. Changing out my shoes, tidying myself up.
I don't plug myself into music, this twenty minute ride. Sometimes it feels like I'm wasting time- like that time with music in my ears could be spent thinking about what I really need to be doing. Sometimes it stresses me out.

I can hear the wheels on the road, smell the haze that finds its way through the windows of the cab.
The city is a screen of grey, and I'm moving through it.
I don't want my cab ride to end. I don't want it to take longer or make me late, but I don't want it to end. I want this twenty minutes to stretch on for ages, so that I can think.
It gets difficult to these days.

I'm falling,
I'm falling apart.
It's not to do with people, or the amount of work, or the deadlines I'm given.

I'm at this school now.
The last time I was here was a year and a half ago. I distinctly remember having recently come back from Bangkok with Vic, Eme and Bird.
I miss myself. The person that I was then, the routine I carved for myself, the freedom within my structures.

"I prefer you now to how you were back then- Nonchalant, about life and the world and everything in general." He'd said to me, a friend I haven't been in touch with in a long while.
Expanded, he had meant laid back, careless.
Nonchalant, I don't know, but careless- yes. And I miss that about myself.

I miss how everything's within what I can handle and cope with. How plugging into music doesn't mean I'm wasting time.
I miss how it feels for it to be okay to have time for me-
To blade, to run, to swim, to do Muay Thai.
Because now when I do it, it seems like it's just a form of escapism. Like I'm running away.
Like I'm taking time off from my life and I know I'll have to get back to it.

These days, it feels like I'm stealing.
An extra half hour here for lunch, fifteen minutes to lie in. Maybe twenty minutes to stare at kois in a koi pond.

I'd blade or do something, something, anything.
Except that'd just be running away. And I'm not going to do that.

Oh it feels like everything I touch might crumble.

But I've got a four-hour class to teach now,
Six classes of forms to sort out this evening,
And two programs to clean up sort out and email.

I might want to hold on and stay in place a while,
But I can't.

Not now.

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All the things I tell myself are enough to hold on to

Her text this morning, it almost had me tearing up.

My recent realization- why does it make me feel such an extraordinary pain?

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i love the way we love

If I came home to you this evening after work,
Or if you came home to me this evening after dinner out,
It'd feel like all the itty bitty bits of things outside home wouldn't matter.
Not anymore.

things like this make me go "Aww"

Akif Halqi Naughtybynature

Clear Chat History

Today

MISS C!

Could you please please please kindly be our drama teacher for like, permanently!

running low on fuel

Don't waste yourself at the start, they say. They keep saying.
And they know best, I know,
Just looking out for you and all the rest of it.

But you can't possibly run out of passion, can you?
Or maybe it started off as that, and then the spillage came in.

As frustrated as I am, as infuriating as this feels, I'm glad it's happening.
In some sense anyways.
It's almost like, at least I get to sift through what may or may not work for me in the long run.
And I'm learning, really I am.
Like,
Don't make promises (or even bring up the idea of one) before you know what'll be asked of you.

In this space though,
It seems like I might be running a tad low on fuel.
It makes me uneasy, this realization. And my admission of it.
Because,
I can almost sense some part of myself turning to the other and going,
"So is this what you're truly passionate about?"

It scares me, because I'm less sure of my motivations.

I used to say I could do this forever.
I said that two and a half years ago or so, and I did carry on doing it.
I kept at it because I could.
It's just that 'this' has changed a bit, sort of expanded if I may.

But I mean, something's gotta give, right?
There're always, always bits of what you do that you don't like.
It'll never go seamlessly, but I don't know.
I guess at the same time I'm trying desperately to way out the compromises.

Someone got me thinking about something the other day-
Six months ago, ten months ago, twelve months even,
A low but comfortable number on the scale was a 5.5 out of 10.
And that number would either stay put or increase over the course of the day.

Now,
On a good day,
I wake up at a 2.5
It might go up a bit, now and then,but after,
It settles back into the same number.
And I'm comfortable, really I am. I'm not sad, oh lord, no.
But I guess I'm just not as happy and settled and at peace with myself as I used to be.
I hate that I'm finding this out, and that,
I've found myself in full confession mode.

I'm quite upset now.
And feeling bloody stupid at that.

Fuck the stupid knee, I'm going for Muay Thai tomorrow.

because for the first time, it makes sense to try

Something fits with you
Everything falls into place
Makes sense

Feels like I could've been doing this ages,
Feels like I can.

Like I could do this for a while
Like I could be here longer than I'd thought
And then it sort of all gets a bit messy and I'm not sure what to think anymore and inside, inside it's just a tumble of words one after the other after the other
Reallycharis,whyexplainyourselftellmecomeontellmethinkthisoutthewayyoualwaysdowritewritewriteuntilitallmakessense

Except
I keep writing-
In snippets, in paragraphs, in breaks,
In breaths, breathless.
I try to think it out but I'm still left empty-handed.

I like that we've talked about bits of it today.
I do.

But I also know that I'm due to sit down,
By water, with myself, my pencil and paper,
And start a conversation that won't go in a direction I know.

Like peas in a pod

And then I think,

"Hey, I used to know her."

It's funny, but it's also kind of just a little bit painful at the same time.

I'm always left wondering what happened, and how it did.

But sometimes, y'know,

just because you ask doesn't mean that you're owed an answer.

And it's best left as it is y'know, just like that.

But for that bit of time, it was fun.

And I'd like to remember that-

The screaming, and ditzy-ing about. The crying, the falling over, the falling.

We were always able to talk about things a couple of layers deeper than it looked like we could. I loved that about you. I loved that you called to tell me the smallest, most important things.

I loved that I could do the same with you.

And so, no,

I don't know what happened.

But Twin, I sure as hell miss you.

And I just wanted you to know.

impossibly so, in fact.

It's chilly out,
A smattering of red and orange bits about the front porch,
The lawn and on the pavement that runs on forever.

You're calling out from the kitchen-
Something about the blender that won't work. I'm leaning against the red brick wall at the end of the driveway that is just about chest level, taking all of it in.
Then you're leaning against the doorway,
glass of juice (from the carton) in hand, having given up on that sodding blender.

And I'm thinking-
It doesn't have to be here, or there.
Doesn't have to be like all the things we've thought up, or talked of, or laughed at.
And I'd never want you to stay if you didn't want to.
But, you're here right now, and that's just the loveliest thing really.

"Dream up something first," they've always said,
So I do.
And my word, who knew dreams could be so beautiful?
And who'd have thought that this dream might be one,
That one might want to hold on to for a while.


just so you know, I'm impossibly I'm love with you

they're all hands and fingers

leaving me with dirt right underneath my skin, staining my bones


Whenever things like this happen,
I tell myself it's just me-
That I'm paranoid, sensitive,
Going half mad.

Then it happens again.
And I think,
That's just it;
I'm half mad

But I realize,
Big brown eyes can hypnotize
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i don't do this very often

Wow.
You know, I have no idea what just happened.

or why this feels like this.


I think it's because,
For the first time,
It's like, it wasn't okay to cry. Even though you didn't have anything to do with it.

And uhm,
I'm still grappling with this whole, feeling quite daft thing.

I'm not feeling the way I am because I'm embarrassed about how I feel and what I think,
Not because you need to know what to do with all this nonsense I've brought up,
But just a little bit because I didn't mean for you to sorta stare at the spillage ang think,
Shoot, this is bloody Pandora's box this is.
I don't mean for anyone to have to see this and think that.


Which is precisely why.

What's on the other side of the ocean?

In all the houses that I've lived in since moving to Singapore (save for the first, I think) we've never fully unpacked. We've never unpacked every single thing from its box and given it a shelf or a cupboard space to call home. Even back in Pasir Ris, we had stacks and stacks of albums and cook books, kept in large plastic boxes- never unpacked.
Sure we took them out now and then, and there always has to be that first boyfriend your mom will show your baby pictures to,
But it was never on a shelf that would always hold a dusty outline of it.

We were always meant to go home;
Our time in this place, a stopover.

The first time I had to pack, I packed thirteen years of my life into boxes. (Because when we first moved in, I was still little enough to warrant the unpacking of all that was me)
Everything that I'd ever known, everything that had been with me or been collected in all that time, all of it was wrapped in newspaper and put into boxes.
And so we moved, and I dealt with it. We didn't unpack all of our things though, there was never enough space for anything.

Then we moved again, and I was less sentimental as I was keen on chucking stuff. Boxes of letter from the ex, pictures or cutouts of stupid things-
They had to go.

Everything that's with us in our apartment now has been unpacked. God knows why we still actually have boxes about, but all our stuff's with us for sure.
The rest of- which is about three quarters of all that we own (possibly more) is in storage somewhere in Woodlands.
And yes, it is as out in the sticks as it sounds.

We're moving again.

Of course, I've known this for a long time now. I've been the one bugging us to get off our asses, ever since we decided to buy a place a year back.
But going about looking, sorta makes things more real I suppose.

On one hand, I am happy.
I could do without my toilet door attacking me every so often and having a swimming pool in our kitchen every time we do laundry.
But I am tired.
I am tired because the one thing left on my mind is-
When is this going to stop?
When is this, all this moving going to fucking end?

We've always supposed to have been going back home, and when we weren't, we were supposed to be joining family in the States.
But we haven't as yet, and meanwhile, we have moved so many fucking times.
Packing, unpacking, packing, unpacking.

And in this time,
We've lived some kind of half-life. (I'm pretty sure I've said this before.)

Y'know, there'd have been a world of difference if someone had just decided that,
Sod all,
We're bloody staying put here.

No, I can't say I'd jump around in excitement. But at least there would've been just one, solid thing.

I would never ask anyone to move with or for me.
I might ask if they'd like to, but I would never have a place picked out, a life cut out and say, "come."
I couldn't.

And at the same time, maybe that's why I've always wanted to have kids early.
Because before I have them, I'd pick a place, plant myself there,
And I will not move for the longest time.
Not because I hate moving.

But because in all my life,
I've just always needed something more than a concept to hold on to.

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I think

Talking would be nice.

It's there, all of it, what I need/want to say. A jumbled mess, but there all the same.

Most times, it's just infinitely easier to talk about other things. It's always been easier to present the less emotional side of yourself, the side that people look at and tell you makes them happy, because you are.
It's always so much easier to tell yourself, that if you focus on something else for a while, hold on to something you're sure of, the rest of it won't be real. And maybe, you'll get away with not having to sort out iffy things like your feelings or thoughts.

So here I am,
Sitting on the floor of the loo, my back against the wall-
Much like I used to do back when I was in school.
Believing, I think, that maybe if I sit here just a bit longer, the world will forget about me and I won't have to go back to it.

I wish I wasn't like this, feeling all this nonsense. And I wish I could understand it better.
I am generally upset.
For the most part, it's a lot of things added up. Perhaps if I took the time to sort them out into boxes, folders and sub-folders, it wouldn't be half as bad.
But I guess taking the time to do so has always been my problem.

Okay, wait, that's a lie-
It's never been a problem I've had because I have always, always found time to write and think and just, talk with myself.
I don't get that so much anymore.
I try to, I really do. But it's less writing, even during my alone time.
And God I'm tired.
That in itself is a contributing factor. This whole lack of time with myself (although I am left puzzled because I DO still have me-time, I just haven't been using it to write so oughtn't I just sit down to write then? Except I'm more tired these days and... Okay, we're going 'round in circles again.)

But I'm sitting here because it feels safe. The solidity of the toilet floor, the sureness of the space between tiles. I feel so safe I might just cry.
And the drilling and hammering and sound of machinery, it feels like we're lost in it. Feels like I'm lost in it.
But the longer I sit here, the further away I seem to get from all that noise and oh, just the rest of the world.

I am tired.
So perhaps it'd be okay to just, curl up here for a tad longer,
close my eyes and tell myself that the world will make more sense when I go back to it.
Although, I really sorta hate making promises that I don't know if I can keep.

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I don't want to do this today

It just doesn't quite feel like I can.
And I am listless and distracted and upset.

I don't want to do this today.
Anything actually.
I want to just sit in a corner,
Or crawl under a table,
Or sit on a couch by the window and stare out of it.
Just for, an indefinite amount of time.

I'm not alright, but bloody hell,
I don't know what's wrong me either.

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It's not enough, though it's too much. Why must it always feel like this?

I'm not okay today.

I miss you and oh, those words I've read a million times now-
They still make me cry.
Every single time.

It's one of those days where I feel like I'm ripping my insides out in what is supposed to be a way of therapy.
Except it isn't.

This is for you.
It's supposed to be for you.
It should've been for you.

I wish I wasn't so teary eyed.
It's not very good you know? Turning up for work ten minutes late and then being all teary. Hiding in the loo to feel sad.

But I've put myself in the middle of our empty studio.
Black carpets, high ceilings with red brick walls.
Feeling the ache that's come with the absence of you.

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So how's this work hey?

I just what,
Type an email and pretend it's not kinda weird. Or like, I know exactly what I'm doing when I don't and then just sorta let everything else fall into place?

Okay.
Okay, I can do that.

Or like try to decide how I feel and just sorta be like,
Hmm, uhm. Okay.okay.okay, I give up.

That's my problem I suppose-
My job let's me run away.

A couple of the kids said in a feedback form,
"Drama let's me be someone I am not."
"In drama, I can be anyone I want to be."
And that's only the half of it darling, really.

It let's you crawl out of your skin and into a character that you can create. It let's you step out to step in, let go and become.

Sometimes, it is awfully tempting to stay in character for long after the house lights have come on and the audience, emptied out.
Sometimes, it's a whole lot easier to be all the things that everyone else wants you to be, y'know, just for convenience sake.
Of course that only works if you can shut yourself out. Block out your needs and wants and all that you should be.
I never said it was a good thing, I just said it might be easier.

And sometimes,
It's a whole lot easier to just go with things, like you know exactly what's happening. When in truth, you're not even sure if there's anything the least bit solid to walk on, when you take the next step.

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Far Away

I guess there's been quite a bit going on (understatement of the year) and it's been one helluva roller-coaster ride not so much so this week,

but just, of recent.

At least on my end that is.

Afternoons on grassy fields, tearing up dried leaves, talking endlessly,

Or evenings with ice-cream by water, in playgrounds, talking endlessly,

we're quite a long way off from that and I find it a frightful shame.

I don't suppose I've thought about things very much. I think I've been trying to crawl out of my skin and get away from myself. I've lost my words, and I've looked around a bit and then sort of given up.

Tired. I'm tired, I think.

Most often these days, I sort of would just like to sit and talk.

Or sit and attempt to.

Or sit and just, not.

I don't half mind just sitting and being quiet.

Most days, it feels like I'm in a different place altogether and all that I'm holding on to is whatever is in front of me.

Because it's all that I can.

I'm close to tears and this is so stupid because I don't even have any bloody idea why.

Maybe I'm upset, maybe I'm frustrated. I don't know, I have no clue.

We were caught trying to get a cab from Gardens, mid-freaking-day. And five got stolen and then a couple here and there just passed us by.

Now obviously, they're just cabs and really, I don't really mind. Especially in retrospect.

But then, at the point in time, Oh My Word.

I wasn't so much so annoyed or upset as I was close to tears. Not because cabs weren't stopping, but because,

oh I don't know really.

Then I just shoved it into a box and didn't really want to think about how I was feeling, which is what I've been doing for,

uhm, well, fuck, I might as well admit it now-

the last three weeks I think. I can't quite be sure.

Maybe it's time to sit down for a bit.

Even if it means crying about seemingly nothing.

At the same time, I feel awful that I've subconsciously closed up a bit.

I don't think I was quite aware of it, and no I wasn't actively doing it or anything.

But still,

I'm sorry. More than I might find myself capable of telling you, but really,

I am sorry.

And it's not my favouritest feeling in the world, feeling a bit sort of

out of touch,

even though it's only been a few days.

But (and I'm not being callous about it or anything)

we'll pick our way through this, and sort it out.

And I really don't mean it to sound so task-oriented, really.

________________________________________

On another note!

We did quite a few homely things today, which was quite nice. I don't usually do such homely things with people and I quite like it.

There was Mass with Erika, and then there was Sunday Brunch which was Bak Chor Mee with Erika's folksies at Crawford. Oh the honour! (No really. I'm remembering the chilli, and want to just stop and bask in the memory of it for a bit) I thought it was awfully nice of them to bring me so THANK YOU ^^

Then there was messing around with hair dye and juice and sappy romance show and crisps-

And all at the same time!

Which came before checking out new apartments.

(That's another story altogether.)

Such a family day no? haha.

Oh Sundays!

And now, I shall take my leave because Mommy's made baked rice(:

Hold

When the floor gives way, we reach-

Clawing at walls, grasping at straws.

We cling on to all that we know, all that we are sure of, best as we know how. Except,

sometimes, when the world is determined to be difficult, we find that all we're left

holding on to has managed to start slipping through our fingers too.

And it feels like everything might crumble as soon as we touch it. We're at the end of our

rapidly fraying rope and shit,

It's a long way down.

Hold on. Hold on tight then,

To yourself.

Because when everything else is falling to pieces, when nothing's quite as you know it

anymore,

You are. And you are real, you are here.

And Lord knows, you've got to hold on to all that you know.

Because you might not know when you'll meet the ground, or where you'll be or when

you'll meet the ground. You might not know why it's happening or how or what it'll be

like to feel safe and steady again.

In the very least though, you'll know that the world might've stripped you of everything

you thought real,

but it couldn't take you away from yourself.

And there's not a chance in hell that it'll have the satisfaction of doing that.

Letter

"I remember Job though, lots of bad things happened to him."
"Uh huh"
"Yeah, I mean his wife got turned into a pillar of salt."
"Baby that wasn't Job, that was Lot or something."
"Yeah well, a lot of bad things happened to him too."

Sometimes people go, "Oh well, hey, it could've been worse."
Except, if you're right in the middle of the world crashing down around you,
it sort of doesn't feel that way.

So yes, maybe our cattle and sheep and wheat and barley aren't dead or being attacked.
Maybe our children aren't dead.
Maybe our wife isn't randomly turning into a pillar of salt.
But it doesn't make any of this any easier to swallow.


Yes, none of us can see Your major plan for us. And maybe, when all is said and done, we'll be one who finds ourselves looking back and smiling knowingly.
But I'm just saying, maybe it'd be nice to ease up a bit on the nonsense is all.


Because really, honestly,
There are some who could really do with You cutting them some slack.
And maybe there really is a world waiting on the other side of this pool of boiling lava,
But the world on this side hasn't been half bad and bloody hell,
This is one helluva lava pool.

Respite,
Please.

Before there's absolutely nothing left.




right now, I'd give the world, to have you slip into sleep breathing easy

We're the same sort of people. We'll give and give and give,
Because we want to.
But the moment it becomes something expected of us, something we ought to do,
Anything that feels like it's closing in on us just a tad,
We'll shift uncomfortably and want to run.

And we'll ask if it's just us.
We'll wonder desperately if there's something wired wrongly with us,
That we can't seem to handle the everyday that people breeze through.
But it's not.

Except, I can't believe that it's going to feel like it's just me soon.
Though I figure now, you probably felt like that for the longest time.

No one else's leaving feels even a fraction as bad as yours.
Because they've, we've, you've got a world of different reasons.
But it's sorta the same with us, and I know that while you must, it stings.

I am impossibly happy for you, but no one else is going to get it-
This, and all it brings.
They don't give a hoot. They're not half as emotionally attached.
I'm not saying they don't like work,
I'm saying they feel different.

That's why we think it through, and it still hurts to let go.
That's why we stay to tie up loose ends,
To wrap things up before we take our leave.
And that's why we'll always come back.

I'm a few steps behind you now.
And love it as I do, I know I can't stay. You could've told me that,
I think you might have already in fact.
It kills me to think this, admit this, know this.
But well.


I'll see you on the other side babe,
We're the same sorta people after all.

i cant believe it's actually getting to me

But it kind of is.

from the sidelines

Because girl, I love you for everything.
and even if.

so how'd we get like this, d'you think?

It's ten to seven on a Sunday evening.
You're on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, my head in your lap.
And that's all there is.

We could be doing things, we could;
Watching telly or reading or talking about what we ought to have for dinner.
Except we're not.
We're just on the couch, not saying anything. And I don't know about you, but I'm not even thinking anything either.

I curl and uncurl my toes, reach up and thread my fingers through yours, resting on my tummy.
The CD finishes its last track and whirs to a stop. The remote for the CD player is a mere inch and a half from where our fingers are laced.
Neither of us make an attempt to move, to start up the CD again, or load a new one in.
Neither of us make an attempt to move, period.


And we stay like that, just you and me.
Doing absolutely nothing in the world. Not even pretending, not even attempting to pretend to be doing something.
Just absolutely nothing.

I reach up, run my finger along your jawline. Your eyes meet mine then,
And you smile, just the tiniest tiny bit.

And I think,
I could do this for the longest time.
And I think,
There isn't anything else I'd like more than this.
And I think,
Oh my word, this is perfect.
This is completely and utterly perfect.


And I think,
I am impossibly in love with you

run devil, run

I wanted to run.
Outrun the insane wave of thought and emotion I've been wrought with (or in denial about being so)
Run-
Until my insides scream, my chest hurt, my feet burn
And my legs give out and leave me in a sodding heap.
Then,
Then I wanted to pick myself up and run some more.

Until the music in my ears become no more than the wind going crazy,
Until I am so, so painful that I'm numb,
Until I am shaky and delirious.
Until,
I can't quite tell that I'm crying anymore.