Friday, January 11, 2008
Sing Sang Sunk
Promise me that you will not tell anyone what I wore on Christmas Eve. Promise? ‘I am pathetic,’ I typed a short message to R on Christmas Eve. ‘Surely not as pathetic as me.’ ‘Oh yeah? I am in bed at 8 p.m. iBook on lap, watching senseless tv on Christmas Eve.’ ‘I’m home too.’ ‘What the fuck happened to me? Promise me that you will not tell anyone what I wore on Christmas Eve, ok. Jatuh saham (trans: lose stock value).’ After exchanging more than ten messages, we both agreed that we were too lazy to join the long jam. Can you believe it? I involuntarily volunteered to be alone at home on Christmas Eve. I wouldn’t mind it that much if I had some hot hunk but I was sat in bed all on my own. Actually I didn’t mind sitting in bed at all. I needed all the rest that I got. Not so long ago, I club hopped on my own, joining different groups of friends in nothing but sexy lace. Somehow everything feels bland in my mouth. Nothing tastes sweet anymore. Is it really true that everything tastes like nothing when I don’t have you? And that love will make even the bitterest experience sweet and it is also love that takes away everything beautiful. I don’t know if you have noticed but I am escaping somesort. I am avoiding the topic that I do not want to mention. I seriously do not think that I am able to deal with this at the moment. Each time I think about it, my heart sinks and tears will flow uncontrollably. I have lost count the times when secret tears ran down my cheeks - at work, while driving, during dinner at my parents, afternoons in a busy shopping mall, quiet moments at 3:11 a.m. all alone. I woke up at 3:11 a.m. exactly for the past 2 weeks. ‘I can’t do this anymore.’ I practiced that line a million times. Each time I say it, I will hear Alex mew a little ‘babs’. To be precise, I imagine him pursing his lips, eyes cast down with a squeak ‘baaa-aaabs’ and it kills me each time. Every and every time. And even now as I recall this, tears roll down. Damn those tears. It sometimes feels easier to severe major arteries than with him who makes you sing in your darkest hour. Labels: love |
