I think sometimes I need someone. Just someone who would sit down and listen. To the words I chose to say. Or just listen. To the silence that I cry out.

It’s been a while. This routine feeling of lonesome. I am not the lonely kind. I have stuffs to do. Yesterday I spent almost 4 hours solving that Square-1 Rubik’s cube and yet I couldn’t reach the answer. So eventually I tried to sleep at around 3 but with my head so heavy I couldn’t. I got up and decided to read something. I went on to read ‘The catcher in the rye’ and then all of a sudden, one memory led to another, and all those memories started following like a chain into my mind. I don’t know how. I thought I was over it. I mean I even stopped listening to John Mayer songs because they reminded me of him. And now, like a stupid little girl, I was crying. You see, the kind of cry where the tears wouldn’t stop coming. It had been a while since I have cried, I mean for unspecific reasons.

I don’t miss him. But I don’t know how on earth would I find logic to the fact that I would be really glad to see him. I know I wouldn’t say hello. I am the kind to walk past the past. And here I am in the middle of the end of a day and the beginning of a new one, stuck with his memories that I don’t know what to do with. Whether to take it with me or to leave them behind. I remember how he used say that he hoped to see me writing something good about him. And I would, you see. I would write pages and pages about him till eternity but then I am so scared about being lured back into that whirlpool of darkness which could in no matter of time engulf my being. I can’t. And I don’t want to. To forget myself and remember someone. I have never been so strong. I mean I never again dared to buy that 4 by 4 Rubik’s cube and solve it. It always reminded me of him. It carried a sense of weak spot in my mind. With utmost difficulty, I had made myself surrender to the idea that some puzzles need not to be wasted time upon. Let them be. Let them remain unsolved.

I slept after a while. Leaving, once again. Him. And his memories. Not behind, but somewhere in between the lines I guess, carelessly tucked in into some open vaults to let me experience in some forth coming uncertain middle of the night moments, both the beauty of love and loss.

Yet for that time being, I would prefer to make myself entitled only with the last of the words he chose to say.
“Sorry I can’t.”