The White Monster

I still hate your ex-fling
although hate is probably too strong a word
and it's probably my hormones talking
I still don't like it when you refer to her affectionately
although it's been years
and I probably would had done it worse

The Kitchen Conversation

Goes on and on over the white china cups.

You are holding my hand.

Honestly,

why did you let it go years ago?

Chimney

I feel easily exhausted lately. Bleak. Dull. I can pretty much summed up more adjectives to describe it, none in a positive tone.

Sometimes I wish I could just turn myself inside out, wash it clean, put it under the sunlight for a merry good time of drying up, so I can be something again. Something other than this.

Black with soot and dark with anger I cannot decipher.

Time Stops Rain

Rains. It always rains here.
I used to not mind the grey. It brought light to things that usually people don't pay attention to. To things I usually don't pay attention to.
Like the color of your socks. The golden gleam on the wristwatch my grandfather gave me when I was 12. How light blonde Trey is, and how her olive skin is flawless and is actually glowing. Which makes me jealous. Hannah's boots show it's outstanding quality underneath the drizzle.

I used to not mind the grey. It accentuates the warmth in the smallest places. Like the corner between your neck and left shoulder. The faint beat of your heart behind your left earlobe.

When it rains, strangely, I seem to unable to remember what it's like when it's not raining. How does it sound like, smells like, looks like. The grey puts a heavy blanket to my senses and memory. It is now. Now and no other time.

Now when it rains time stops still while everyone else is running. Running to avoid the rain.

I think I shall stay and try to remember how once I used to not mind the grey.

The Best Remedy

Wednesday is Wotan, or Odin's day.
Somehow something related to knowledge or enlightenment often happened to me on Wednesdays compared to the other days of the week.
Friday is my favorite day. It's the shortest longest day before weekend. The strange paradox of this day is exhilarating.
I hate Saturdays because usually I feel so alone.
Sundays are worse because suddenly the weekend is going to be over and a new week will start.
Monday is by now a monster, fed by so many bad thinking of Oh-How-I-Hate-Mondays.
Tuesday, I think, has that middle-child syndrome. Of being there but not really being there. Never really gets noticed by people who fusses more on Monday and Saturday and Sunday.
Thursday is the strong and silent type, because people who pretend to be procrastinator, but actually knows a great deal more of better, will actually run errands on Thursdays. Because Thursday is Thor's day. You can almost always count on Thor.

"So what do we do now?" You asked as we sat feet on thighs underneath the kitchen table.
I think I will bring Tuesday a bowl of soup, sit with her and talk about what people should think about the months of the year.

Breaking the Myth

It was always too dark outside

too somber inside

sometimes it's hot and humid

sometimes it's cool and dry

sometimes none of these matters

There was a tinge of vanilla in the air once

of clove from the cigarette that burned in the ashtray on the table beside the bed

of fabric softener

of the sun on his hair

of the dampness on his skin

There was the sound of his breathing, slow and deep in sleep

the sound of my heart beating, a little bit too fast without warning

the faint pulse at the nook on the side of his neck between his jawline and shoulder where I perched my head contentedly

the quiet music at the background we never bothered to register the lyrics

or the singers the bands whatever

or the fact that we subconsciously wiggled our feet to the beat

It's always been a quest to beat the myth

to break it into shards and pieces and sweep them off with a dustpan to the dustbin

These array of boundaries broken to reveal more boundaries beyond it

Yes, my quests, and I think I often win

for a while,

before he quit

and I moved on to another quest

Now it's always too bright outside

too warm inside

Sometimes it's about being too cheerful and happy

Sometimes it's about being quite normal and soppy

You should know all small detail does matter

The myth I am about to break

is me

the broken mirror

Hidden Maps

No sleep over was your original rule, but you eventually let me stay every once in a while. I brought along the copy of Joyce's Ulysses, taken from R's bookshelf months ago, the copy I had brought everywhere in hope that reading it will make me understand R better. You know this. I still had not managed to go far reading it. Page fifteen. Page fifteen after more than eight months. You never let me read the book in your bed. It was as if you were jealous.

"Have you gained your sovereignty?" You suddenly asked.
Oh that. The original plan that went with your original rule. I still kept it and brought it around and about. Secured within my mind. A bit just like the Ulysses copy. It didn't go far either. Just like my progress with Joyce.

"Tell me what you did during the weekend," was actually my reply.

"I had to run some errands, the weekend stuffs."

Yes, your weekend stuffs. Which basically, generally, splitting your energy into more than five things going on at once. I thought of this with pity instead of admiringly. These five lives you're living in, almost dropped the "v" out of it I did. "V" just like I said to you once, "for vaginas. Plural." And you told me it was unfair and made you almost hate me that instance.

You fall under the category of BS in my book. But I never told you this. I was reading Ulysses in your bed. The map to the stars. The key to the heart of R. And you knew what it was. And you immediately took action to it as you usually were. A coup d'etat.

I guessed you as I, had already known the answers, deep, deep inside. I will never be one of your multiple lives. You will never be included in my navigational purposes. Yes, I have gained it, the sovereignty. In the oddest way and at the oddest place. As you shifted your focus unto pleasure, started yet another of your game of hunt the hidden treasure, I turned the light off. We never needed maps in this terrain.