You're a lonely soul.

We do not smile,

Because of the hurt they gave.

And we remain buried in our graves,

Burning and crying out in pain.

We do not care who we are in places,

Because we always walk on by.

We are so very ourselves,

And we fuck everyone else,

Just like anyone else.

You call us the depressives,

I call them the in-touches.

Because we are so rich with emotions,

It irks and boils your blood.

So cry and tell me soon,

When one of those ill veins snap,

Who do you fucking beg?

We are calendar people.

I do not understand how the hands of fate work its way around here. Imagine meeting someone whom you once were very close to a whole decade later and you had almost totally forgotten about him except for that face of his. Scenarios like these always got me pondering through the adrenaline rush on how to react because I have never imagined/fantasized chancing upon someone whom I never would love to remember. Significance is always in transition itself too. And because I believe that everything is a metaphor, I wonder what is going to unfold right after this chance encounter. Or rather what is that hidden agenda in and meaning of this meeting.

Alright. Thank God he doesn't remember me at all. Or perhaps he's just pretending like I am.

NL2 prepared our lunch for both of us yesterday. It was a simple meal. But there was lotsa effort he put in. And it was the first true meal I have ever had prepared by a boyfriend. I feel sorry for NL2 because his girlfriend here can't cook. I don't seem to be able to master the art of culinary. I can never logistically plan what to put in right after what and what so ever. Don't ever try my cooking I warn you. And that is, if I do put on that apron.

Work is good. Shopping is better. And having spending all the money you are raking in sucks. I am on credit now once again. And that is seriously nothing new. Having said farewell to three good colleagues, soon it's time to say farewell to colleague NL2. I would have to brave poverty with him. First ordeal. =)

Once again, I am addicted to maple.

It's time for some pictures ain't it!?

Alright, one pathetic one.

That's Mambo! I got wasted on milk!

I suck.

I got too tired and threw my shades on my dressing table when I got home this early afternoon. And it broke. Yes. Now I need to buy another new pair of shades.

And I have to change out the guineas later. So you wail, what's new?

And I bought something which most of you out there would most prolly scream at me for it.

It's a Marc Jacobs red clip. Which most prolly cost 60 moolah (for a clip) after my 40% staff purchase. Oh well, perhaps you guys won't scream at me for it. But NL2 is going to.

Lol.

I love my boyfriend.

In this process of avoidance of the mental and emotional pain, my conscious mind decided to enter a specific name in Google search engine, expecting what results would be displayed. Mixed up feelings hit like a tidal wave when I found a page - someone's blog with the mention of it. And a picture. A look which I never have got the chance to brand it painfully deeply into my head. It was dated two years history. And at that point of time, neither one of us has had our paths crossed.

My fist-like blood bank cringed in extreme pain and unknowingly shed a little fallen tear. With such massive waves of regrets and sorrow hit, I didn't even realise I had teared until the numb effect of the pain went off. Too afraid to break into pieces, I quickly shut down the computer and went into solitude, scribbling away in my journal words which could never ever be brought into reality. And it hurts me to find out how complicated my heart can be and I felt deeply shamed by the way I function.

I began walking alongside happiness (most prolly hypothetically) eversince some time in March, keeping safe of Chrissy and all ill emotions in two pocketfuls, never allowing myself to savour the dear old feeling which I have been missing. But how do I change the morbid attribute which I possess. It's only natural.

I miss you.

And I hate you.

I am doing well.

Thank you.

Thank you, stranger.

I say, Artifice

Life is more than fun when you are :

High end

Rich

Superficial

Manipulative