Feels like sorrow, that.

In bed on Friday night—one of the times when you don’t know where to go.

My soul wanders away seeking its rightful home. I’m left with a cell phone light and a pillow as a writing prop.

I’m always left there when you and you and you leave, one by one by one.

It’s not a bad day, this day in time in fact made history, almost. Why is it always so close. Maybe it’s the dread, for the bored-of-living.

My soul seemed to have left me forever. I was always needy, tonight I’m not. It thought I didn’t want it there.

Maybe not.

I feel sorrow, not sadness, blood spurting out of passion nor grief, emptying of heart into trusting test-tubes in white labs, freeze. de-freeze. freeze.de-freeze.heat. Freeze.

Sorrow, the peaceful, little creek meandering with the fluid of muted life.

I feel something behind me.               Nothing.

I always feel something behind me.                  No nothing.

No one behind, I’m the last. Maybe there was, in the past when I still bothered. Maybe it’s haunting me, the past. I like that feeling.

My eyes hurt. Why do I write this. I’m always getting myself hurt. By myself.

What’s wrong with me. Hello?

I cry, I always cry, trying to keep that up— non-stop crying. Can’t, I ran out.

Could I have more?

I’m waving my hands. Left     . Right      . Left     . Right     . Someone’s waving goodbye. To me? I don’t know why.

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I liked the guy with the shy smile and avoiding eyes, 1 and a half years ago. Tonight, I like him still. I didn’t know I could still like.

He said, congrats on winning the debate and too bad we didn’t break into the quarter-finals. But that’s okay.

I thought you said winning 2 rounds = breaking?

Well, I said, oh well, I left my shoes there. I’m always losing things.

I lost it, I lost my feelings, I feel it coming back, I lost yesterday, I lost 15 years and I was prepared to trade the rest of my life for muted death.

Why had I wanted to do that?

I rubbed my eyes, hurt. I pressed the backlight for the 5th time. 5 x 3 =15 minutes.

I’m always rubbing things, somehow it makes things seem better. I used to use the eraser a lot, rub rub rub, I’m always making mistakes with the pencil. Then later on, I learnt how to rub my wounds into scars into nothingness, rub my heart.

I don’t anymore.

The region after the 2 World Wars. Post-chaos, I feel lonely.

The silence you call peace. I thought not.

Tonight when everyone sleeps, the Earth fell into a giant pit. I was awake, the only one who knew. That’s why humans are so eager to share their secrets– not to be alone. I’m not going to share, yet.

Feels like sorrow, that.

Like a horizon— see-able but unreachable. Someone said that of ‘Hope’ too.

Yesterday, I would have said that the world was all the same,

But no, we’re on the opposite sides of the bay, staring at the endless middle.

If I had a huge telescope, I could see you right away.

But I don’t want to.