What a difference

So you asked me, "What difference would it make if I was there?"

"A ton of difference." I said.

You didn't ask why.

If you did, I would have told that your presence makes the difference to my day.

that your presence changes my day from a 5 to a 10.

that your presence reminds me that my heart, still beats.

that your presence reminds me that I am still just a fool enchanted by hope.

that your presence reminds me just how much I enjoy spending time with you.

If only you knew.

That missing feeling

It's hard to describe the feeling of missing someone..

Missing somebody is always a difficult proposition to contemplate. On one hand, its an empty, lonely feeling, the irony is that this absence seems to be taking some solid form in the vacuum of your heart. On the other hand, is the fact that we have somebody to miss a better idea than not having anyone to miss at all? In a sense, its a rather different empty feeling that loiters around the recesses of the soul, so does one have to be thankful that instead of feeling shit about nothing, one has somebody to feel shitty about?

I've had my fair share of this missing feeling for the better part of the year, but none greater than the past few months. Sometimes I rationalise it this way; everybody's bound to miss something. I'm sure everybody in their heart is missing a certain thing, be it their childhood, or another person, or their old job, or a vacation, so you know on that level, I don't feel so bad? Because in the train of thought of missing things, I'm just another doe-eyed passenger riding on this track, with next train stop, mental oblivion!

Sometimes I feel missing someone is an exquisite and sweet pain.. think about it, when lets say you're lover leaves you for a period of time, and there's this absence. It's like, you'd do things A, B, and C with said lover, and now you've got to do them all on their own. Ain't that a funny feeling? And you'd be going through the A's and B's and be like, gosh I wish you were here so I could do all these things with, and you'd smile thinking "yeah, she'd say this about A, I know how she loves to do C before A sometimes when the mood strikes it", and its funny really, how sweet memories can become equally torturous at the same time? Such is the emotional magnitude that gravitates the surface of our hearts.

But if there's a more interesting metaphor for missing someone, it would be this;

The feeling of missing you, which has permeated me for what seems like a mental eternity, I've managed to relegate to a part of my mind which does not surface during normal activities. Meaning I can eat, sleep, and pee sometimes without thinking of you. I've tried my hardest to forget about you, or more aptly, to forget to remember you, but how I describe this unshakable feeling I may have about you?

I see your face in the shadow of every thought.. in the sunshine of happiness, a light pervasive shadow frames the moments and reminds me of how things used to be.. and you know my life can go fine for days at a stretch, but its like a busted car going at 60km/h down a freeway, you think everything is fine and then you hit a roadblock and the whole mental vehicle comes to a crashing halt. Or better yet, its like life is a short story, or a certain article, and you're happily writing, the letters are strung together to make sentences, and the sentences grow longer and longer as you try to fill your life with as much inane things to make you forget about everything, but then there has to be a full stop somewhere. And you to me are that full stop which brings the whole sentence to an end, and its like at the end of every future happy moment, there'll always be this full stop which infinitely always reminds me of you, this emotional punctuation which without, my life would make no metaphorical grammatical sense really.. and whatever that is that I do, I can't ever truly say that I'd stop missing you, because I'll always require that fractional moment to stop and wonder what it is you're doing right at this very moment? And if I punctuate your life the way that you've punctuated mine?

So yes missing someone is truly a blessing and a curse at the same time.. but right now, its alot more cursed than blessing... But it's late at night.. any excuse for a ramble I suppose..

Chinese Horoscopes

The place was hustling with noise and chatter as we sit in the corner, whatever cool-about-town magazine, clutched in our grasp.

“What’s your zodiac?” She asks leaning over.

“Pardon?”

“Your Chinese zodiac.” She says again, showing me the page.

The words, ‘Your Chinese horoscope’ glaring at me under the pseudo pretentious dim lights.

“Chicken” I say, as I shift in my seat.

“Let's see...... Chicken’s should watch out for changes in their employment in 2009…etc” She says as her feminine finger trace the lines.

My fingers take over as I complete the lines.

“…Compatible with : Tiger, Rabbit and Ox.” I finish.

Brief silence ensues.

“What about you?” I query.

“Tiger.” She replies.

I grin.

The night is worth it.

Tis the season

So I guess it's that time of year again.

History dictates that one should learn from his previous mistakes.

Especially when said mistakes relate to matters of the heart.

Over the years, I have learnt the hard way, that you never rush to tell a woman that you are nuts about her.

For no good can come from rushing.

But I now find myself in that oh-to-familiar situation. When oh f'ing when is it the right time to be forth right? to stare down the barrel of a gun? to pee into the wind? to tell you that I am head over heels for you?

As I sit here, palms drenched in sweat, pondering this, something inside tells me that this is the time. But is it?

Fuck.

Pft.

Let's just get with the program. I mean, it's Christmas and if you can't be honest during Christmas when can you right?

The Carpet, It Burns You!!!

All my life, all I've known is burnt carpet. Ouch.

Imagine you're 5, just a kid. When you're 5, the world seems five times as large. Mainly because you are five times smaller than adults. You're full of starshine wonder. Toilet bowls amuse you. Dogshit entertains you. Booger tastes good to you.

You're 5 years old. You have no concept of love, respect, don't care for money, no clue that life is actually just one big humungous dildo waiting to rape that metaphorical butthole that is your soul. You're mom feeds you, and you're happy. Happiness is a warm plate, not a smoking gun. See what 20 extra years on earth can make you feel like.

But you're 5 years old. Now imagine you're in a big room. Talking like blue ocean big. You're 5, remember? Rooms like that are easy to find, aplenty. You're small!! A little tyke! And to keep up with the theme, its fully-carpeted. Sheepy fleece white, just to whet your hungry imagination.

And so you're standing there, minding your own business, in your own happy little 5 year old existence. Now say you have a friend there. She's 5 too! But you don't dig her, naw. Girls are yecky at that age. It's ironic; you want to do everything when you're 5, except the opposite sex. When you're an adult, you don't want to do anything BUT the opposite sex.

But lets not burst the fragile bubble that is this 260 week paradise of lost innocence. Now imagine the girl (lets say she's a skinny little pig-tailed girl with big wide eyes, a full stop for a nose and no front teeth), invites you to race you to the end of the room. And what's worse, the bitch has ran off first! You're doomed to a bad start before you've even taken the first breath, let alone your first step.

But that competitive 5 year old streak of yours won't let go. You can't win; the odds are all stacked against you; you're screwed. But you're 5; what the feckin' hell do you know about winning or losing? Everything's fun... so you chase after her, running the length of the continent of a room.

And while you're running, and as she turns back just so she can flash her lecherous face at you, to rub it in that she's winning (nevermind that she had a 5 second headstart), you pick up the pace, accelerating towards the end of the room, determined to do your damnest to either win or condemn yourself to an eternity in Hell (although what a 5 year old believes hell to be is also anyone's guess, quite possibly a world full of bittergout and broccolli... )

And that's when you slip, and you're running so fast, you don't realise how much momentum you've built, and your little feet give way to the fast approaching carpet, and that's when it happens.

The carpet, it burns you. You've skinned your knees.

And your little 5 year old physique shoots with this searing pain, which of course will pass in due time, but the abrasions are there to remind you of your folly, and should serve you well as a chilling reminder of your life:

While chasing after someone, you had fallen hard for that person, but all you got for falling for them was burnt.

This is the concept of carpet burn. All my life, all I've known is burnt carpet. Ouch.

Numero Uno

So this is how it all begins.

And begin it shall.