L’il by L’il

A l’il bit of secret,

A l’il touch of smile,

A l’il exchange of laughter

And a fucking shitload of bloody mess I’ve got to clean up, all by myself.

You see, I’ve gotten over almost everything and finally got everything I wanted. A job, a life, a bunch of friends and a country that I belong to.

What the fuck do I really want now?

Dharma service in the morning talked about the monster of desire. How we want more, and more. How we want things we cannot get. How we would never feel satisfied, as long as there’s the monster inside us.

I’m toying with a weird, ever expanding creature. I know the consequences but this go-against-the-tide nature of mine wants to touch a smoldering coal, just to experience how the pain feels like.

And the stupid, berserk female hormones coursing through my veins meant I would start fantasising about a future with him. What should I cook for us when I get home? Would I get annoyed by him squeezing the toothpaste from the top instead of the bottom end? What would the first morning-after be like?

So much questions, so little time and opportunities. So many answers that I shudder to think what he would tell me.

Why can’t I just take the easy way out?

“You need me,”

He said.

All romance books have this cliche female character- she has all the people around her and yet she is gnawed by this inexplicable sensation of loneliness. I scoff at such a character because it shows the degree of weakness she allows herself to harbour.

Today, right now, I allowed myself to be like her.

When the ones all around you are trying to prise you out of the shell, and you don’t understand why you are not breaking out of the bulwark either. Consumed by an overwhelming sense of neediness and melancholy, your heart aches and your facial expression is an arrangement of dispassion.

“I wish I can do what I used to do, just to see you smile through your tears.”

When you said that, did u plan to use it as a weapon to hurt, to make me weep? There are those who keep an arsenal of tender words, camouflaging sweet-nothings with a look of concern, enticing you into their web of deceit. I find myself entangled, trapped yet holding tightly to your words.

“I wish I didn’t have to do this. I feel useless and weak. I don’t need you.”

“If I say the same thing I would slap myself for lying to myself.”

“I hate you.”

“I hate you when you receive to take your happy medicine.”

I like it when you nuzzle into the back of my neck. I can feel you smiling into my skin, the soft waxy feel of your lips raising its edges. You have a powdery scent, tinged with a strange distinct mix of air freshener and new leather. I said you remind me of all things happy: your smile, your eyes, your smell. A bouquet of euphoric bliss.

“I’m going to stop crying like a bloody baby and put down the phone.”

“You are going to start crying to me and sob all over the phone or else you will never feel better.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I can make you do what I want you to do to make you feel better.”

“You make me feel worse.”

“You made me feel terrible because I never thought I can miss someone like that.”

“We’ve got to stop.”

“When you stop crying and start feeling better, then we’ll think of stopping.”

“What if your wife knows.”

“Why do you have to bring her up?”

 

Because I need to remind myself that you don’t belong to me. That I should stop needing you. That you should stop allowing me to think about you. That you should stop thinking about me as well.

Where does the Good Go?

He’s Z, one of those I was infatuated with when I was at the height of teenage angst. I had this giant teeny-crush after we played a duet- we later found out that we were under the same cello instructor.

So, fast forward seven years later after he broke my poor heart (hohoho, I was highly emotionally delicate then) he said this to me:

“just dun regret when you are 30 and realize that all those guys you had fun with dun really care for you. it’s really quite easy to find people to go out and have fun with- you wanna find someone who cares for you? very difficult. Remember the sandy lam song : 该爱的就爱，该恨的就恨，但是要为自己保留几分.”

I’m telling myself he’s being nonsensical again. He might be sore when I tell him about B, Gav and G. Or maybe, he thinks I really should put a stop to it.

tsk. Cheebye.