It is weird and wonderful. Your brown eyes are now blue. I comment on it ...you tell me with a laugh that it's a factor of ageing. We look at each other and even though we knew it would be awkward after six years, there is a single startled moment. We cover it with words. Yong sits in the middle silent. He knows.
The tankachis have ended their cold war. Alleluia!
But have they?
And we trade memories because there is nothing current we will meet on. No point of commonality. Whatever happened to so and so?
Did you know his daughter died in a car accident? He's a broken man.
Yes, he would be.
Did you know Mals told me once that someone saw suicide in her hands?
Strange.
Yes, strange. And then she died the way she did.
Once so much to each other. Now polite strangers. Strained smiles. Pretending, just pretending. I loved you once. And then, we shattered. You stepped over the broken glass to better things.
And I chose my own way. Not your way, but I didn't have your priorities. Be true to yourself, I whispered. Don't be fake, don't be phony, you're better than this.
But was I?
Everything I have, I destroy. I build it up painstakingly and then I cast it from me. I don't seem to have the talent for continuity. Forever frightens me.
And now at three in the morning the pain hits and I am bent over double, choking. I can't believe these feelings, this intensity.
Love is strange.
9 comments:
Everything seems worse at three in the morning. We torture ourselves with what we consider our past,current and future failures.
Yeah love is damn strange! Something similar was happening to me in the wee hours of morning today.
Nessa: Knowing it's my worst time of the day I wonder at myself for always staying up to catch it. Almost as if I'm afraid to miss my sorrow, if not.
Grey Shades: We two. The volatile ones. And yet, I don't know if I would dope myself up to feel less.
I think dope would heighten your state of pain even more! Dont you think?
No. Some of it blunts the pain. Like Thorazine. Supposed to stabilise you or some such thing. Of course, once the sensitivity is blunted you cannot write....no feeling anymore.
I agree. Being alone with your thoughts can be both good and harmful. I wish it was more productive.
It can be productive I suppose. When you have nothing to do, you produce.
Or reproduce.
I keep getting the two mixed up.
I really do like you blog jenn...This post in particularly touching...the hurt rings loud...Sometimes it feels like this is always so...you part ways, you move on and then when you meet again, there is no new common ground, only what was common in our past...and it feels sad...
Praby! I love you!
*Mwah* *Mwah*
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