Foundation.

There’s a house of cards, trembling precariously as I approach it slowly with shaky fingers - yet there are more cards waiting to make its way to the top, begging me not to ignore the pile. Foolish child, I chide myself. Playing with fire is never, ever right. Remember what happened the last time? This might just be worse. But again, there’s caution and then there’s what I can’t pretend I don’t feel. At any time, a gust of wind is going to come by, and it’s not as though I don’t know this; I am mentally preparing myself. It’s gonna be a liquid mess. And it’s probably not gonna be worth it. Here I am anyway, picking up the next card, trying my best to throw all hesitation aside like I know exactly how the story ends. The truth is I don’t – all I know is it’s going to hurt like hell when it comes crashing down.

Lies I couldn’t possibly tell.

I thought of the amount of time I was gonna spend with dad in the car tomorrow morning and sighed. There’d be no escaping that question:

SO WHY IS IT OVER?

Something tells me that saying ‘good question, Dad, I’ll get back to you on that one’ is not gonna work.

Right.

I tried to think of some reasons.

One: he was taking forever to decide what he wants to do with his life and I couldn’t wait anymore; I want to graduate, get a job, move to Melbourne and eventually own an apartment with giant pillows.

Well. It was kinda true, but it definitely wasn’t the real reason and I wondered if I could make it sound like I meant it. But I did like the last part very much and daydreamed of the colours of my future pillow cases.

Two: I just didn’t like him anymore ’cause we kept arguing.

No shit we kept arguing but it didn’t really drive a wedge between us or anything like that. We got over it mostly, but at one point, it really did feel like it was not worth it anymore; to fight and argue and cry and just sink to the floor, wanting the thoughts to stop coming and hitting you where they hurt most… Nevertheless, could I really pull it off? Probably not.

Three… three… he just didn’t like me anymore..?

If only it was that easy and straightforward.

Fourrrr…

Huh.

I’ve run out of creative ideas.

I noticed that in the end, it doesn’t matter anymore as to how it started; it just matters why it ended when it’s not obvious why it did. Because you know, it’s over and all you’ve got left are the endless repeats of ‘why?’

But in the end, nothing I could come up with hurt as much as the truth.

Found & Lost

I almost started crying admist the myriad of colours and patterns and fabrics.
But the relief of having my best friend now knew beat the tears away.
Thanks, best friend, for the hugs and understanding and making me feel like I’m not crazy.

* * * * *

The knowledge that I did the right thing settles in to warm my heart and quell the doubts that threw me off-course.
To hear that I wasn’t to blame finally rang true.

* * * * *

Hi. It’s your mistake.
For crying out loud.

What you say and what you do (are two completely different things)

The mistake I never thought I’d make.

As I’ve always vehemently insisted, there is a choice. In moments like these, when the house of cards start falling down, people choose to blame anything that seems even remotely plausible. Such denial of wrongdoing that I’ve often turned my nose at; could it possibly disgust me more that they could try their best to find excuses that are so obviously fiction? What fucking lies.

And so now I acknowledge that it was my own selfish choice. How I didn’t think further than my own emotional state and this insufferable need that wouldn’t shut up. So I stole it from the person who least expected it. God only knows that it wasn’t my place and I could’ve done something to stop it. I should’ve. And I won’t lie about it.

Oh the foolishness. I think I need to run away. From myself.

White noise.

There is much to tell, but there isn’t. Everyday is a struggle within myself to understand; how do I make someone else get it? I question myself sometimes if I had been completely stupid in the beginning, what has happened in the middle that I can’t seem to remember and how the end became the end. The answers don’t come, but the tears do. My friends hold me close, and they’re all trying to make sure I don’t fall again, but they’re confused. But so am I. And I know it’ll take a while before I’ll realise the magic that is how to talk about it.

Over. Over. Over.

I’ve reached this point where I’m so mad at you.

Perhaps that really was my heart breaking as I realised that I couldn’t do this anymore. This is not what love is supposed to be. It can’t always be the endless wariness and tiptoeing.

It feels like the five stages of grief.

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.

I keep thinking that everything I do will somehow get me back to how I was before I was hurt and confused and heartbroken, which is stupid.

I’m angry that you broke your promise. I’m angry that it came to this. I’m angry that we’re over. I’m just… angry.

Falling out of love is harder than anyone makes it out to be.

But no, I don’t really care (because I’m angry, remember?).

180.

It’s probably time to jam that panic button.

Fragile.

It started off with a Campari.
Then a champagne flute was placed in front of me.
Down it went.
Cheers went the next one.
Oui, sante.
Perhaps there was another.
And then we went elsewhere and it was one bottle of vodka.
Three 3-seconds of another bottle of Belvedere.
She kept shouting at me that it was the best vodka.
I wanted to laugh in her face but all I thought was, stop thinking.
Stop being everywhere.
One tequila (what a bite).
Two tequila (What a douche).
More brain-numbing shit that I need so badly.
And then a phone call, for good measure.
Why, why?
And then the blame game keeps going and going and I’m so tired.
Could you possibly think that I hurt you more than you hurt me?
Stop it.
Stop this.
Please.
Turn this bad soap opera off because this is what it feels like to me.
Ah, but it did happen.
And I did fall.
I’m rushing to the other extreme, hoping it neutralises the memories.
Where’s that red button?
Break the glass.
Just punch it real hard before I continue breaking into little pieces.

Are you letting go?

How does it all seem so ordinary despite everything having changed?

I couldn’t walk into a bar without thinking of how you would’ve scoffed and what you would’ve said had you seen their menu. It was abysmal. I searched the bar for Maker’s and I couldn’t find it; it was what I wanted because it was what you seemed to want half the time. Why can’t I have it?

Mid-conversation with you, I crouched in the middle of a supermarket to cry, because I felt as though the world had pulled itself from underneath me when you said you only wanted me to be happy. Why does it lack any sense at all?

Taking the escalator, I remembered you telling me that you standing one step below was the perfect height to kiss me and the tears started again.

I walked past so many comic books and could only think of you.

My iPod is set to the playlist that I had made when we had a fight so long ago, when I had thought that I couldn’t possibly let you go.

I can’t even open Youtube without wanting to send you sad love songs that no one else wants to listen to.

Leftfootrightfootleftfootrightfoot. If I keep walking with a purpose, maybe I’ll forget the last person who told me that he felt lonely without me, exactly the way I feel now.

How…?

How do I let go…?

Oh, kill me.

‘You’re the only thing I know like the back of my hand’
- Taylor Swift

Ah, but are you? Who knows anymore?

* * * * *

I’ve spent the last couple of days working in a function venue where there is a never-ending rush to get plates of food out, fake smiles alight and some wine pouring involved. Of course I feel like tossing down tequilas like strawberries and sucking on oranges with cinnamon sugar but those dessert platters aren’t gonna serve themselves, dammit. I still can’t really experience much sensation in my feet from the autopilot back and forth to the kitchen and tables, and my calves feel like they’re about to be slaughtered (yes, I did mean to say that).  And I kept thinking, it’s okay. I’ll have money soon. And then I can hang out with friends and clean the house before I leave, yes?

But of course, I realise tonight that my flight is a day earlier than I thought it was. And suddenly, I panic like hell. How did I manage to get it all mixed up?! Every single one of my plans go awry, and I have no idea how to fix it. Someone fucking call Bob already, dammit. I was looking forward to the holidays and I know that I AM supposed to be on holidays but it doesn’t feel like it all because I was chasing the dollars. But I guess that’s life; you keep trying to scrounge up the Benjamin Franklins of this world without realising that the time to even spend it has run out. *shakes head* Originally, the weekend hadn’t seemed so bad despite the slight sleep deprivation, and I hadn’t regretted agreeing to another shift despite not being rostered at all, but the agony of knowing that I stupidly gave and stole my own 24 hours away is a killer. Bleh.

I know it’s my birthday month, but besides that, there hasn’t been much to look forward to at all.