Sometimes the way that you act makes me wonder what I am to you
Sometimes I can't stand the way that I'm acting to be part of the things you do
Often I've asked you for too much of your time
Like I'm stealing

Time after time I have needed a reason
Just to get inside your world
So many times have I asked myself how it feels to love
And this love seems the only conclusion that I'm guilty of

Put your loving arms around me
And whisper to me

And inside your arms I'm burning

I'm burning, inside your arms I'm burning..

Strangely I can't bring myself to get fresh air.

Very odd, I know, in that I no longer found comfort and that i would even try.

It is the first time, now, that i've opened the satchet of biscuits and tasted it. I never dared to open the boxed packet coz it was so precious and please don't blame him - I didn't actually made an effort to collect as well.

Eating the biscuit as though I were a kid who only had a single toffee, chewing it so gently and praying that it melts slower.




I've never felt relief in this way before and strangely I'm enjoying the air, clean as it is.

I’m sorry.
I’m terribly poor at explaining things.
So I hope you don’t mind if I don’t make sense.


I only wanted to help.
I never actually want to mean you harm, sleepless nights and heartache.
I am sorry if I have caused you trouble.

I saw her from afar, the lonely form wandering down the expressway. The streetlamps burned like stars. The headlights, the taillights flew, in a dizzy blaze of speed.

My honda stopped beside; while she peered in. Staring at me through the door window, mouthing her silent words of: "Sir, can you take me? Let me come home to stay. Please.."

My door opened, and closed, and no more would she say. And we rode on together in separate worlds, while the radio sang tunes of sex, dreams and misery.

Images outside the windscreen rolled by, like movies, like magic, at the touch of the witching hour playing soft reflections of streets, shops, and lights in her eyes of pale shimmering glass.

I woke up startled to the ominous sounds of chilly winds flapping through the open window and saw an angel sitting on the sill with her spread of wings ruffling in the air.

She says, "
I miss you in my loneliness
Looking at your face, I suddenly smile at you
Though I know this dream will never come true
My tears keep rolling down
Because if it's not fated
I want to let it go
But it keeps engraving deeper and deeper in my heart
The more I try to let it go the more it accumulates
After all I cannot forget you
"

She turned to give me a look
I would never forget
Before jumping
Down
Without a word
Without a scream
Till the sound of a thud



An angel has hit the ground.




Every falling droplet contains a reflection inside, of its surrounding world.
Catch one. Hang it from the tip of your finger.





I collect all their tears and put it in a bottle.

"That daimon which God
breathed into me at birth
I with glad heart
return now to Him."

But I can run. Run. And I have been running. Running from the places that remind me of her. Running from the things that remind me of her. Just looking ahead always, and running. Running. Running till I have nowhere to run from myself. My memories. My dreams.

Because there is love, there is pain. I may be dead, but I'm still hurting.

One day I will fall apart. My hands dragging my arms, they crawling away. My feet with a hop and another hop, taking my legs away. My neck severed. My ears dropped off. Everything. Just broken apart.

And maybe, maybe I will then know which part of me is me. The head? Or the heart?

I'm tired piggy-backing myself. Sometimes I really would like to put myself down for a rest. And maybe we can exchange role. I can piggy-back me.

Now I take turns piggy-backing myself. Someone has to do the walking.

One day I will fall apart. Will I tell me then, which part am I? The head? Or the heart?

there can be nothing left standing up nothing nothing smash it smash it i say go on go smash it and all the rage trapped down the spine yelling screaming and i say smash it and i smash it and smash that and smash this arghhhhhharhghhh and everything everything everything smashed!
exploded. gone. pieces.

stop.

Stop!

STOP!

I don't know. I don't know where to start. Where to start fixing myself up whole again. To be ready. To be ready to be smashed again.

You said you don't care but I do, too much. I hear Joni Mitchell say: if you care, don't let them know, don't give yourself away. And so I never let them know, I never give myself away. What about you? Are you just a lie in a story written by God?

I keep sensing something really sinister, something really wrong. I can't put a word to it but I know I would be proven right one day and yes, I am sickly and strangely happy thinking about it.

And yet tomorrow I will forget everything. I will be living innocently again in a series of sad stories with no happy endings, and I will not know why.

Tomorrow I will forget everything. Until someone reads this post. Again. And again. And again.


"What are you doing in my room?" he exclaimed.

He had no idea. Inexplicable. Bizarre.

"Maybe this is a dream," she said.

"Whose dream is it then? Mine or yours?"

"Does it matter? It can even be someone else's dream, as long as we are here together."

He wasn't sure but he said, "Yes, you are right."

Chained by a shackle of morals dropping through the grounds, he was being pulled to hell. Not unaware, but held mesmerised, quelled and soothed by the sirens. Not the sirens of the sea, but the daughters of the earth. He had a face of tranquility of sorrows.

"None of us have woken up yet, she said, "we are still here in this dream."

"Yeah," he said.

Something wasn't right.

"This is starting not to feel like a dream," he said.

"Yeah," she said.

"Maybe this is real," he groaned.

"Yeah," she replied.

"You are a left-hander," he said.

She opened her eyes wide.

"How do you know?" she asked.

He shrugged and gave his boyish smile.

She frowned for a moment. Finally. Laughed. "You talk like this often?"

He shrugged again. While she laughed again. Happily. And she tugged his heart. A pang. Of which he could not explain. And he thought he felt rather old. And sad. Still, his expression was the same - deadpan.

"I've got to go," he told her.

"I thought you said you would be with me forever," she said.

"I don't belong here. I've got to go," he repeated.

She came over and hugged him. "Stay, please.."

"No I can't. You've got to go too."

"Please stay!" she shouted in the background. "STAY!!"

He made no sound. Just sat quietly, listening. And his voice slipping through in between lights and shadows.

"Their love is forbidden color."

Then he continued, sadly: "And my love, is forbidden color." "I don't understand. If it is wrong. Why God made it feel so good."

"How can something that feels good be wrong?"
"Where is my piece of my ocean?"
"When will I reach there?"

"I will be gone when your song's ended."

"So when will it be my turn?" he asked.

"Don't worry," the reaper replied. "When it's time, I will personally come to collect you. I will make sure of that."

He laughed. "I've been waiting, all my life. I just hope it's soon."


It doesn't matter. Writers are liars. Actors are liars. Everything is a lie, including this one.

Yes, it's always the case of you know and another person knows and both of you are aware of the other person yet you do not bring it up in person.

Strange and funny for it seems, the more the loneliness, the more secrets I want to tell you. The imagined conversations I have with you, vanishes, simply because you are near me.

Yes, all the beautiful friends I’ve known. The ones I see everyday. The way our eyes met. The chatters we had. Made me all the more lonely. At least when I’m alone, I can pretend to tell you, all that is about me, and you can show me, all that is about you. But when we’re together, I can only pretend, to be someone else. Someone else talking to you.

Yes, all the beautiful women I’ve slept with. The things I’ve wanted to tell you. The secrets I hid in my heart, I never told you. It’s hard to say it out, because it hurts. Who knows, you may laugh at me. It’s foolish.

Yes, all the beautiful strangers I’ve met. Out in the streets. Walking towards me. When I look at you. When you look at me. We could be so near. Yet, in that moment of our lives, we merely brushed past each other. I’ll never know who you are. And you’ll never know my secret.
That I love you.
Yes, to you, to you, and to you.

I’m in the mood for love. Simply because, you are near me.

Strange and funny for it seems, it’s the beautiful ones I don’t know, I’ve never slept with, I’ve never met, that knows my secret.




And I love you too, my beautiful reader.