Yeah..

Yeah...

It's...

It feels...

Fuck.

Maybe it just piled up. Year after year, disappointment upon disappointment. And maybe I'm just too tired or maybe just incapable of dealing with it or getting rid of it.

Like I said; yeah..

It's... It feels....

Fuck it.

You're looking at me with a puzzled look on your face, as my incoherent words and thoughts seem to confuse you further. I'm walking up and down the house, glass in hand, trying to gather my thoughts, but how can you do that when your brain feels shattered?

Maybe you should stop drinking, you suggest.

Honey, you don't know half of it.

Finally I sit right across you. I look up and see your face, that beautiful face the tips of my fingers have caressed inch by inch. Faint dark circles, you look a little tired but good. You're good. You're okay.

I look at you and wonder, how am I gonna do this? How do you let go? How do you see the person you love go away?

The thought alone breaks my heart.

How? How can I even dare say I love you when I can't bear the thought of you being okay and happy and shit without me?

I don't know how. I really don't.

But I do know that there's nothing else to do.

I look at you straight in the eye, I move a little closer, touch your hair and say 'go, be happy, and I promise I'll be happy for you'.

You get up and hug me, I swear I think my heart stopped and off you go, running off into the sunset.

And then, I'm alone. Glass in hand, not walking up and down the house, but feeling as if you took a part of me I'll never get back.

And that's how I know I'll never recover.

But that's love right? An ugly creature with angelic eyes.

And no words would ever be enough.

Timing

They say, the timing is never gonna be right; do it now.

But then again, they also say, timing is everything.

Have you ever noticed that, for one deep meaningful saying, there is another one that says the exact opposite thing in the same deep meaningful way?

I've been thinking about time and timing lately. Timing mainly, and how things works out at their own accord, without even realizing how the transition occurred.

Yes, I think I'm having a -rare- glimpse of clarity and I can write something down without being too depressed or depressing. So, timing.

I hate timing. Because I'm one of those right-now kind of people. Now now now. I want answers now. I want to know now. I want to do this now.

God, it's exhausting.

So here I am, waiting for things, but I'm exactly sure of what. Waiting for the pain to completely desert με. Waiting for this disappointment to let go of me. Waiting to start believing in me, in life, in people, in love, in magic. Waiting for this at work. Waiting for that other opportunity.

Waiting for that damn day when I'll look back on this night, this month, this past year and say 'Girl, you worried over nothing'.

*sigh*

Some things happened. And of course it came at the worse timing possible (they design it that way right?). But then again, other things happened and it was just the perfect timing as I was on the edge of shooting myself (figure of speech, don't get excited, I don't even own a gun).

And here I am, on this idle Wednesday night, smoking and drinking in my apartment. Wondering. Doubting. Waiting.

I wake up in the middle of the night every single night lately. I feel exhausted somewhere inside my head. I have long days, I'm on auto pilot, I'm out there and trying. But I've never felt so numb and empty in my entire life. It's like an ongoing situation; it's not the side effect of something that happened. It's like, this is what's left of me. And I'm waiting, taking deep breath after deep breath and waiting to start feeling like myself again. Not just for an hour, an evening or a day. But for everyday.

I feel drained. Tired. Of people. Of stuff. Of dare I say everything? I'm not even sure what makes me happy anymore. I think I've lost faith.

So I'm lingering.

Until the time is right again.

In My Head

I wake up in the middle of the night. Was it a loud noise? Was it a bad dream that woke me from my sleep?

I don't know. I'm not sure.

But I lay there, on my side, legs curled up close to my body, clutching my pillow, eyes wide open and I don't dare move.

I'm frightened for some reason. I don't dare move. Why am I so scared? Why do I feel if I turn around, there will be someone there? I'm alone. I know I'm alone. I know there's noone there and yet I dare not move, paralyzed by fear in the dark quiet house.

I close my eyes, trying so hard to relax and go back to sleep. But I can't. This menacing feeling of someone being in my room is terrifying me. I'm too scared to look under the bed. They always hide under the bed, right? Or are they in the closet?

My room almost looks unfamiliar and unwelcoming while these thoughts are further fueling my paranoia.

I'm losing my mind. I'm terrified, I can't even move, and I have no idea of what.

The unknown? It's always worse in our head right? It always grows into abnormal proportions and drives us insane.

I don't know how, but eventually I guess I drifted back to sleep. I woke up and there was light coming through the window. I woke up in the same curled up position I was. My body is aching.

I look under the bed. No, there's no monster there with big sharp claws waiting for the perfect moment to grab me and shred me to pieces.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

It was in my head.

It's always in our head.

Beam me up Scotty

Goodnight you.

Look At That

Oh look at you.

So smiley and funny. God everyone loves you. They feel you're their best friend. Or at least, would want you to be. You're so much fun and so carefree and you make people laugh and they feel happy for a while, I mean you're awesome. You're the man. You've got it all figured out.

Look at you.

With your easygoing flair. Your Converse sneakers, that huge smile, I mean you're so approachable and lovely.

Look at that.

It must be fun in your world. You make everything seem so easy and pretty and funny. It must be nice. God so nice. Yeah. No wonder they all like you.

Won't you look at that.

Yeah... It is a sight for sore eyes. Come a little closer. No?

Okay, I'll move a little closer.

Let me get a better look. The shininess was blinding me from there. Okay, I'm closer now; my eyes don't hurt anymore.

I'm looking.

Your T-shirt has stains on it. A small hole too. Your Converse sneakers are dirty. You haven't brushed your teeth today have you?

Hey, what's wrong? Don't look away. It's alright. I get it; all that is an act but I'm not afraid. I see you. Come closer.

You still don't move.

Fine. I'll come a little closer then.

What happened to your eyes? Where are they? Cause all I see are two black holes staring back at me. Come on, tell me a joke, you're good at that, come on, make me laugh. What happened? Why are you so serious? You're so much fun from back there.

Your hand feels cold. And weightless. From this close, you look transparent, as if you're not even there.

And now I understand why they all stay away. It's better when you're on the pedestal. They see what they want to see. They see what they need to see.

But what about those that came closer? Why did they all run away? How could you scare off the ones that loved you the most?

Who hurt you? Who was it? Was it mummy? Was it daddy? Because your wounds from so close are so obvious. You're not even licking them. Not even trying to heal them. Maybe you're even oblivious to their presence afterall.

Look at you. So transparent. So thin. You're like the wind; can't grasp it. You slip away.

Away.

What happened to you?

I'm not even sure you can hear me anymore.