Four years of companionship

Dear Blog

I'm sorry I forgot that you turned 4 five days ago. It's been a tumultuous four years.

Happy Birthday.



Love
smudgie

Unspoken.

Your bag has just been packed, but there's still fifteen minutes left before you can leave. So you chat with your colleagues who are all waiting for time to pass. Your eyes flit impatiently to the time bar at the top right hand corner of your screen. 18:48… 18:52… 18:55… every time your colleagues laugh at something you say, you check the time.

At 19:01, you stand up to leave and sing a cheery Bye to your colleagues. Wait, one of them says, give me five minutes, I'm going the same way. There goes my bus, you say jokingly, or maybe not so, if she gets the hint. She doesn't. After that, as you are about to reach the overhead bridge that separates you from where you are to the bus stop, you watch dejectedly as your bus hisses past you.

You climb into a cab, not wanting him to wait because getting on the next bus would mean another forty-five minutes gone. You grimace as you peep at the meter clicking happily away. But at least he won't have to wait long. When you arrive, you walk towards the cafe where you are supposed to meet him and you see him amongst the crowd, pen in hand, diary on the table, frown between his brows. You approach quietly and sit down. He kisses you hello, then continues writing. You know it is going to take a while. You quickly order your drink and your dinner because you are famished. Then, prepared this time, you calmly take out your book and start reading.

To live with a creative man and support him with your love, you learn to be dispassionate. Creativity, like passion, ebbs and flows. If he flows like a river downstream, you erode away like the soil around it to accommodate. Together, you meander down the mountain, aiming for the sea. Maybe one day the both of you will get there. You hope.

Finished with the writing, he turns on the laptop. You close your book because the words are giving you a headache. You reach for your mp3 player instead. Ebb and flow. After that, on your way home, he hands you one side of his earphones. You take it without question. You know he doesn't want to talk. He communicates with you through the tracks he chooses to play, the both of you having discovered a shared language of your own. That, and also through the love you make. He once told you long ago that making love to you was his way of connecting with you, and you remember all the make up sex. Every thrust a punishment, every stroke an apology. Unconsciously, your gaze rests on his lips. Noticing that, he smiles and kisses you tenderly. Your heart starts beating passionately again, so much so that it stings your eyes.

You reach your stop and he insists on getting off the train with you. You make him stay on his side of the gate as you make your way to the terminal to wait for your bus home. You watch him from your side of the world as he, standing fifty metres away behind the glass wall waiting, drifts into his own. You want to touch him, stroke his face, but he's too far away. He turns into something cold, impermeable, while you burn alone for him.

Passion. It ebbs and flows.

Remembering.

"As daylight bleeds into the dark our bodies are folded into each other's, there's the jigsaw fit and I'm slamming my eyes shut and remembering the sweetness of it, can hardly bear its intensity. To be held so tightly, to stop the fight, to relax."

~ Nikki Gemmell, Lovesong

Call it whatever you want.

All the fuss I make may seem ridiculous to some. So be it. I answer to no one but myself. They may choose to say I'm being over-sensitive, or choose to be in denial, but my instincts have never proved me wrong. Maybe I'm a psychic, or maybe I'm just subconsciously very protective of whatever belongs to me.

Female tigers do tolerate other females that loiter in their individual territories, but aggression arises when their positions are threatened. When dealing with such females who don't know their places, I wouldn't give any chances if I were a tigress.

And I don't just THINK so. I KNOW so.

Touch.

The wait at the taxi stand was shorter than I had expected. It was the start of the weekend but the streets were less claustrophobic than usual. Maybe the rain kept everyone indoors.

It was almost our turn now. I took in the sounds around me; traffic, inane conversations, shrill voices… I was starting to get lost in them. Then I felt him come up close behind me. His hand rested gently on my waist, warming that small circle of skin that was under his palm, and suddenly, it felt like I belong to him. I turned my head slightly over my shoulder, and my eyes met his—mine full of questions, his simply questioning.

He chose, correctly, to kiss me on the cheek. My eyes softened. He kissed me again.

I wanted so much to tell him that these moments were what I live for. But I couldn't. I was afraid to break that spell. So I choose, hopefully correctly, to preserve these thoughts and these words and that memory of his touch, in places that matter most to me.

Here, and here.

Never Letchu Go - Janet Jackson

A funny thing about love we choose
It ain't perfect but we do the best we can
Do you understand?

And I love you more than words can say
Here's to knowing that you'll stay with me
Through the complications
Baby what I'm saying

I don't wanna give up on our fate
And I don't wanna think that it's too late
So if something is broke
Let me go and fix it
And if something is lost
Let me go and get it
Cause I don't wanna stand when all is done
And I'll be next to you cause you're the one
I said it twice and imma say once more
You're the one I want
I'm never gonna letchu go

There are times
When I don't get around to say what I feel like saying
There are times
When it gets so hard I feel like I can't take it

You make me want you
And fight you
Love you
And despise you

Still when it feels like I ain't got nothing left
I remind myself that

I don't wanna give up on our fate
And I don't wanna think that it's too late
So if something is broke
Let me go and fix it
And if something is lost
Let me go and get it
Cause I don't wanna stand when all is done
And I'll be next to you cause you're the one
I said twice and imma say once more
You're the one I want
I'm never gonna letchu go

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Have you forgotten?

You said you'd never let me go.

Courtesy. It Begins With Me.

I wasn't dressed to go to town today, but because of some last minute arrangements, I was to go to some high fashion boutiques in town to collect some products. Our first stop was a French lingerie boutique. Upon hearing that we were there to loan items and not spend some $500 on bras, the staff answered our queries with as much enthusiasm as my cat when I'm preparing him for a bath.

Feeling extremely irritated, I noted her name from the paperwork she was preparing. As I left the boutique, I thanked her politely for her time, and I addressed her by name as I bid her goodbye. That caught her off guard, and she managed a small, albeit sheepish smile as she said goodbye.

Our last stop was a boutique that carries several high fashion labels. While my colleague waited for the paperwork, I did a little walk around the boutique to do my usual "pick-up-pretty-shoe-and-baulk-at-price" routine, I saw a cute little CDG pouch.

I liked it very much and I was already in the retail-therapy-ish kind of mood (I had just bought a patent cardholder from another boutique), so I went over to my colleague and showed it to her. "Buy it! There's a sale, I think." Although there were little sale cards all over the shelves, I thought I'd ask one of the suited (and glorified) sales assistant standing nearby if it was on sale.

"Oh, that's a Comme des Garçons. Comme des Garçons never goes on sale."

With that, he turned away and went back to where he was standing five seconds ago. Okay… I KNOW it's a CDG, I can read the label, hello? I thought. Well, it was affordable and I really liked it. But then I thought of all the upcoming birthdays this month and all the planned holidays at the end of the year, and I put the pouch back. I know I'll come back for it if I really wanted it bad enough.

Later on in the cab, my colleague asked about the pouch. I told her I'll go back for it (my "one purchase a day" rule), and bitched about what Spiffy Suit said to me. "Rubbish!" she screamed. "I was there last week, ogling at a CDG bag that was on sale! What's he talking about? You should have told me just now. I would have raised some hell!"

So now, I regretted not looking at his name-tag. Next time I'm in town, im'ma go grab my Comme des Garçons and kick some snooty ass.