Yesterday is here.: Downward to darkness on extended wings.

I attended Miss Fingeryou's funeral this evening with Mr Fingerme. Couldn't help but to notice how pale Mr Fingerme had turned after a two months' disappearance (he shunned the camera). We laid Miss Fingeryou's still body down a coffin measuring 4cm x 1cm, threw white roses and had angels sprinkled loves all over her. Cause of her death: Lovesick. But who hell did she fell in love with? That Finger must be somebody.

I do not enjoy the way I am feeling right now. I lack the feel of significance. I smirk right now, because Leo Chrisma is mocking at Cancerian Chrissy. Clashed? I know it is. I find myself diagnosed with bipolar. And to KL and fro back Singapore, I chose to sit all by myself on the coach. I gazed at dead stars and whispered far too much to them. Doubt they would hear me. They are all burnt out. I hate myself. And I don't look like anyone now, not even myself. I should make my own trip down to the zoo tomorrow and sit by polars for the day.

I am an enigma.

I keep writing. I wonder when leaves glide in the wind, will I rust? If I manage to rust, will I corrode? The trees have left, why am I still standing here? If I escape to another world where no one would recognise me, where no one could hurt me, where I can just sit alone by the lake or river and while days away, and forsake every fragmented memories, would I be able to return to innocence and call it Heaven? I need a place where there's only me and myself, to take care of and to be bothered with only myself. My soul is drifting right in misty mid air, wandering and seeking a cave to rest. And the only solace I would ever find comforting would be that little house which chose to shut its door behind me. I stood by its white stripes painted window, onlooking in these days.

The brutal reality slaps in that when we try to seek our value in the people we want to make our worth, it always turn out to be a big fat zero. Why is that we can never have the best of both worlds? Why must things get to the way they are today to forcefully propel me to leave everything all behind? Am I weak by nature or am I just cowardice to remain in this black box to face it all by myself? Where was I this day two years ago? And where would I be at this day two years later? Would I leave you all behind? Or would you remain asleep somewhere down the dark side of my heart, remaining as a wound no remedy could heal?

My comfort zone happens to be a black box.

If you claim to know me, do you really understand what I am going through or how I am feeling right now? If you do, pardon me for saying that 'nonchalance cruelty' happens to be your middle and last name. Pardon me for being an assumptionist for pardon yourself for not filling me in, the slightest twisted emotional alteration at your every ticking perishable hand. Just when I thought cliché Life is unpredictable, you turn out to be a bewilderment. And like any other, there's no explanation why I feel this way towards you.