Lucien left. I took a little time off from work just to settle in with his absence. His cologne lingers in my room, on my favourite dress, on the blanket and it breezes in and out of my mind like an artful dodger. It reminds me of that morning when we woke up to each other, drowning in silence, quietly enjoying it as we laid still, hands in hands. Was it not tragic that I've finally found him after knowing this man for the longest, and finally knowing him beneath all?  And we were to leave, separately, trapped in a knot, in a frantic scramble, and in the midst of a tango. As we exchanged murmur of I love you, I love you-s... I took refuge in the fact that at least we did find each other. Here I am, few thousand miles away from my brown-eyed darling, across the pacific, and I'm two inches from the edge.  I'm leaving in a hundred hours. Away from him, to the other side of the hemisphere. In times like this, do I have to feel alive?

To my serendipity, my resonance, and my buoy across the pacific

I wandered far and about alone, as I went against the sea of human in many forms I couldn't help but feel exhilarated. It was the certainty of being at a place, being so finite and static, that made me genuinely happy. Was it the thick polluted air of this city that made me feel so oddly at home? People were oblivious of the weight of their existence as they carried on with their chosen routes, their eyes stagnant and dull. I was lost in the heart of this city. In the heart of this city I found myself momentarily fixated, the world turned still as I rocked to the lonesome blues this Puerto Rican man gently, gently played. Did he too, travel far and got wondrously lost? Has he too, lost his heart amidst this chaotic mess? He played the blues gently, gently like the sound of many heartaches, many unfulfilled love and many lost hopes. Like mine, lost in a rush of wind. Gone, gone in a gust of wind. I wandered far and about alone, and then I came back. Not any better, not any less. Do I blame it on my wild heart? Or do I blame it against the world? Here I am again, planning another quick escape. Like a coward, cowering under your shadows, packing my misery in a suitcase. Running far, far away from you.

From a safe distance, I love you.

I often think about my almost-lover - I can't fault the planarity of our encounter, it's the only way it could be. Almost tragically, I feel that he could be the essence of my being - fleeting, polar, and fluctuous. We will never feel settled in our ground state. Perhaps we are just pretentious fools trapped in a double-bind. Sometimes I wonder if in another time, in our best elements, will we be good together? Will I find solace in him? I can't seem to feel at rest. My almost-lover, he lacks decency. He is uninhibited, rude and cruel. I couldn't think of him without contempt, however in a reflective way. I wonder if he is truly happy?  If so, how did he do it? Am I happy? Perhaps not. Lucien doesn't seem to mind me - he thought of me as "eccentric"and "aloof", and that he'd probably never find someone as "interesting" as I am. Ah Lucien does not know me. He sees beauty in our misalignments. I find it banausic and it often left me feeling unsettled.  Feeling in love, and being in love is entirely different - that I'm well aware of but do I walk away from simple pleasure as such? I like feeling in love, I like the intimacy of it, and I like watching it progresses like an outsider. If only this would come guilt-free. Will I get punished for being so reckless?  Sometimes I think of Mr Ito - that tumultuous time he made me I lived for, how bare I'd gotten, and how blindly brave I was - I want it back. I want to go back to where the monster lurks, and when I was actually happy. Willing. And truly happy. It could've been this close. I think of my almost-lover often, in a distant albeit affectionate way. I wonder if these thoughts are products of my destined exit, or if I truly do want him? The thing with written thoughts is, they dance, they mock and they are, in fact, insubstantial. Alas, my almost-lover, is just an almost-lover.

Ah....am I not clever? I make fools happy.