Thursday, November 08, 2007


Things haven't changed much since I was 4. The black ink spots on my drawing room wallpaper, the furniture, old books, cards, notes, how they make me feel when I close my eyes and turn the pages...and how the air off them smells like 1991. And're still everywhere. Sure I was innocent back then. All I wanted to do was to hold your hand and look at you forever without ever saying anything. And you always knew how it was, or perhaps it was the greatest lie I had ever told myself. Every song I heard, every movie I watched, every person I met...somehow reminded me of you. And it still happens once in a very dark blue moon. It wasn't your fault. Its just silly me...I ended up relating everything to you. And made it an excuse for everything I did wrong in my life. I started deriving pleasure from living in my self-created misery. But it did end, and it wasn't pretty. Calling it awkward would be an understatement. I hope you understand, I had no choice. I had to do what I did. And everything happens for the best, or that's how one should rationalize anyway. And you still visit me sometimes. Thank you for that. Thank you for those glances from behind trees and fences when I'm walking slow and you think I wouldn't notice. I notice a lot but realization evades me until later. And guess what...I just realized you'll never read this.

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