I Was Alone In A Cafe & Feeling Lonely (September 5, 2015)

I have become a cliché of a writer. Sitting in a corner with my laptop in tow, I have become one of those people that annoy me when I walk in a crowded café. How did this happen? As I look out the window, the rain pours harder, blurring the world outside. Could things get any more dramatic? Maybe. And it just did. Florence + the Machines’ St. Jude came on and I’m starting to feel the melancholy creep in.

St. Jude. The patron saint for lost causes. These days I feel like I should be calling out to him for help. It seems like my usual pick-me-uppers haven’t been very effective. Reaching out have left me with a slight burn and putting down my feelings into words haven’t been going well either. I am depressed, and I can’t even say it without feeling like I’m belittling clinical depression. Maybe I’m just sad. Lonely. Desperate? I never saw myself that way, but when someone hints that you are, you can’t help but wonder: am I? And if I am, what for?

Being alone with my thoughts have never been good for me. It amplifies my insecurities, leaving me deaf for reason. I need a distraction, but anything I could think of only makes things worse. I find myself deeper in despair and sometimes I feel like there’s no getting out of it. Maybe I’m right. Maybe I’m wrong. My mind is in a haze I can’t be bothered to brave. I just want to sit in this corner and let things figure things out on their own. I want to stay in my bubble, listen to Florence Welch and the soft pitter-patter until the world around me stops spinning. But will it ever?

Next Time

You called it a date the first time, so I guess it would've been our second date. Or maybe not. But it definitely would have been the "next time" we've talked about so often. Something inside me was screaming not to take the bait, but I decided to humour myself and see where it might lead to. It didn't take me long to find out though, because as I had predicted, you bailed at the last minute. Again. And in true you fashion, as if it would somehow make up for all the times you bailed on me, you just said "next time..."

Ah, Next Time. A mythical creature I keep chasing. It's very clever and extremely elusive, yet you somehow managed to make me feel like all I had to do was call out its name and it'll come running. But it never did. And it never will. Because Next Time does not exist. I could be screaming at the top of my lungs and I'd still be chasing my own shadow. Next Time is simply a bait that keeps me in the same cage I've always been for the past 3 years. A cage I could no longer fit in.

It took me a while to realize that the door to my cage had been unlocked all along and I just had to step out to be free. You never really wanted me, but I deluded myself into thinking that you did. Why else would you have fed me with the idea of Next Time? It couldn't have been all bluff. There had to be something. But I'm done trying to make sense of the things you did. I know that whatever your reasons are will never be good enough for me. Not anymore. I guess that's what made it so easy for me to step out the cage and feel nothing. No familiar pang of agony, no despair—nothing.

I thought that when this day comes I'd have a lot more to say. I thought that when I finally take off those blinders I'd be pouring over pages and pages of repressed emotions. But I guess when you're done, you're done. I ran out of tears for you, and now I'm running out of words too. All I have left is a line or two telling you to take your Next Time and shove it where the sun don't shine. I'm not falling for that again.

Maybe Love Is In Another Time Zone

Until Then

I dreamt of you again last night—probably the second time this month, which is weird considering how long it’s been since we last spoke. I was at a buffet table struggling to get some soup when you approached to help. As my bowl was almost filled to the brim, you tipped it over and laughed. My eyes were fixed on the contents of my now-empty bowl that ran all over the table that I hardly noticed you walk away. It’s funny, but that’s exactly what happened between you and me. You filled me with hope before pulling the rug under me, and I am left struggling to get up and pretend like I knew all along how all of it was going to end.

It’s been a while since I last wrote about you, and for a moment there I thought I was done. But I guess I’ll always be writing about you, dreaming about you, until the next heartbreak comes along.

Seek What You Shan’t Have

You walk on tip-toes, in search for a drop of ambrosia
Skimming through the shallow surface for that endless abyss
You long to set your sun ablaze, but you cower at the sparks that ignite
Dancing on golden strings—will you ever find what you’re looking for?

Convince Me To Please You

Some awkward moments are harder to get over than others.

You sleep on it hoping it gets lost in a dream, but then you wake up and its still there taunting you at the back of your head. You shake it off and say it really wasn’t that bad. You try to recall what happened to convince yourself that it was indeed just fine, but then you start to notice the smallest details and begin to overanalyze. I should have said this. I shouldn’t have done that. And then you remember what made it so awkward in the first place. Well, maybe you shouldn’t be overthinking it. Maybe you just shrug it off and move on. Maybe you just need to realize that some awkward moments are harder to get over than others, but you will get over it. I hope.