4th November

I woke up late this morning. There was nothing much to do. There were a dozen things to do. I just didn't feel like doing them. Lethargic. I thought I'd stay home today, give my legs a break. But by lunch time, I felt an itch. I needed company. Even from those I don't know.

It's lunch time and I wander. The offers seem vague. People passing by, none catch my eye. I don't even stop for the rabbits. They'll still be there on the morrow when I go by again.

I thought I wouldn't walk so far. I walked further than I planned. But what's in a plan when the plan involves getting nothing done. I thought maybe I'd buy a slice, sugar treat unusual to the norm. I didn't in the end. And buying a bag of chips I sit, not weary but with a tiny hope that something might happen. After all, anything happens in a food court. I read digital.

The day wears on. Make of it what you will. Outside it's getting colder, windy, might have rained. I do not know and did not care. Slowly getting colder from the outside in, and the inside out, sitting under the air con duct. I may check, nothing much changes.

It's not that I don't appreciate. I do. But the heavy heart does hamper and alone I feel adrift. My brother encourages me. My friends are out there he says. I do not wish to impose. They have lives of their own. Besides, the working hours are not done. I do not wish to impose. I'm selfish. I'm prideful. I wish not for attention, but I seek it. My parents call and say they'll call upon me again tonight.

It is getting late. Almost dinner time when I move. Still nothing much has changed. Everything has changed. I've fallen into a glut of gilt and depression. I wish for pity now, but I wish you would not know I wish it. Why can't I be frank? To be frank is to be clear, to be seen, to show what's ugly. I hope you would not see it. I dare you to find out. It is not as complex as it seems. Whatever you may wish it, I will do wrong by it, like a fun house mirror meant for entertainment but is secretly luring you in. Til you cannot find the exit without some frustration.

My eyes brim with salt on the walk home. I have no thoughts in my head. They are filled with memories. Time travel is possible though only in ones head. I might have scared the passerby, I apologies for that wasn't my intention. It would not have been as selfless an act. Maybe one day you may see, a walker shedding sad drops. Maybe you wont stare with pity, for that's the sharpest tool you can use the gauge the tears out.

I've reached my door, but they wont stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. It seems illogical. Isn't it enough? My life is great. I need not worry. Not for the rent, until the next month. Not for the bills, calculated at the end of each day. Not for the job I said I'd do, because I know I'll do it soon. But what happens now at the end of the day? I can count you by the handful. Life isn't a movie. I keep telling myself that. Prince Charming does not do dishes, in real life there is no castle waiting. And so they keep flowing, whether I want to or not.

You may have stopped reading. I will not begrudge you that. It's just a passing feeling after all. I will forget it and so will you. And I will probably regret. I've come this far. The story begs and ending.

The beginning of the end starts with negation from my parents. A message left offline. They went to see a movie. Will talk tomorrow. Or the next day. I feel nothing, I laugh. Brother mine, tell me my friends are out there again. Tell me cousins spare not a thought on imposing. I scream, if only in my mind. It's funny how others have more confidence in me than I in myself. The little voice in my head is asking me to shut it. I will soon.

I'm ready to go to bed. I'm thinking horrible thoughts as I wonder; would you ever see me this way. Guilty of all sins. Guilty of clinging desperately to the past. Guilty of doing nothing. To be so eloquent with words never spoken, would that be a sin as well. I'm tired now. A simple word or voice would send me running. Maybe tomorrow when it doesn't mean a thing, I'll be myself again. The self you know.

But this has got to be the worst birthday in 22 years.

-D-