sarqasm

peyton : people always leave
lucas's reply : sometimes they come back

The irony of the whole idea is that i no longer fully believe in that anymore. At least, not till i met you. I used to misunderstand that it was beyond any power imaginable to keep things that time would eventually never fail to pry away. Grasping the truth was like holding your hand, an enlightenment, a new breath of fresh air, a sudden lease of life. Now i've found out, now i know. The effort put in may not always be worth the result but the everlasting, poetic smile on your face erases the fatigue and diminishes the toil. Not everyone always leaves, you're a keeper for life, i'm going to try to make that a reality.

The correlation between love and alcohol is insipid and macabre. It remains complicated to the naked eye, yet monosyllabic to all that understand.
I've been under the influence all my life. Rehabillitation was of no consolation. I tasted you on my lips at regular intervals but no matter how long it lasted, i've never stopped longing for more. The pride of staying sober never seemed comparable to the ecstasy of being intoxicated. It was a bane of choice, a long-suffering, bittersweet sojourn. I would never choose to turn back even as i knew it would remain a one-way street right from the first step. You transformed me into an addict. Yet i will always be a willing one.

You say hello, inside i'm screaming i love you.

The first line to bring you in. Simple, meaningful, deep. Even though I could never make it for you literally, this is the best I can do for you. A medley of songs, a symphony of lyrics. Ten songs, one meaning. If you know who you are, I hope you like it. You can't listen to the songs I meant for you to hear, this is all but a representative. It's my mixtape for you.

You're something beautiful, a contradiction,
I want you to know that i miss you, i miss you so.
My hopes are so high that your kiss might kill me, so won't you kill me, so i die happy.
You know, for you I'd bleed myself dry.
With you not around it's a little bit more than I can stand.
Still a little bit of your words I long to hear.
Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry, you don't know how lovely you are.
Every time we say goodbye, i wish we had one more kiss, i'll wait for you i promise you i will,
it's a love story, baby just say yes.

I wish I could tell you i loved you in every language, but i guess music is the universal one.

"A cup of coffee or tea for you Sir?"
"Tea please, without milk or sugar, thank you."

Somewhere in flight overhead, crossing the oceans and continents, the stewardess interrupted my nostalgic thoughts with the question, the very same question so familiar to me now. The cup of tea that lay down in front of me reminded me of everything about you. The hard-earned luxury of sitting down somewhere in the alleys, sharing a laugh or two, were moments to savour.

You showed complexity, I refined simplicity. I watched as your drink transformed into a montage of different colours, delighting, stimulating the tastebuds and mine, remained unchanged, bitter and dull. The vast difference was obvious, even to the oblivious. We were leagues, centuries apart, you were far advanced and I would be left in the abyss down below.

The aroma that filled my nostrils were once accompanied by your intoxicating scent. Now, all that was left for me to savour is the lonesome cup of tea, a thorough reflection of my solitary self. Sipping the bittersweet tea, looking out the window, remembering that the direction I headed to was away from you. Yet there was nothing I could have done, for just like the tea without condiments, the tea that filled my tastebuds, I was plain and boring. You remained sophisticated, untouchable, incomparable and all that was left lingering, was your imaginary scent, your whimsical smile and the last portrait of you, me and our cups of teas.

I know you rise in the morning sun,
I feel you touch me in the pouring rain,
and the moment that you wander far from me,
I wanna feel you in my arms again.

Coffee, cupcakes and chocolates.
A housemate, a singer, a looker.

You remind me why I needed this, why I wanted this. An anticipation too heavy to bear, an expectation too easily fulfilled. In the strong wind, you held my hand and pulled me along. Amongst the lure of the bright lights, all I could look at was you. The cold surroundings, overwhelmed with nothing but your warmth. It was unfamiliar but appropriate, all at the same time. A warmth that was missing for years, a feeling I never had a chance to cling on to, yet now, you were near, and everything else seemed so far away.

I believe in you,
you know the door to my very soul,
you're the light in my deepest darkest hour,
you're my saviour when I fall.

Tram rides, long walks, visual memories.
A sojourn, a getaway, a time to remember.

I needed all my strength to say goodbye. The very same strength gathered from seeing you again. The rush of blood, the lingering thoughts, the bittersweet taste of leaving you. I held you close for one last time, feeling your ear brush against my cheek, the scent of your hair evoking emotions I never knew existed. Venturing into the unknown, a realm where I never know for sure if I'll ever catch a glimpse of your flawless features again, all I wished was for one last sweet emotion. As I walked away, for I knew I did not belong, I strained not to turn back, in fear of stealing a look from your eyes, the very same eyes that captivated me, how I wish this night, the last night, could last forever.

And you may not think I care for you,
but you know down inside that I really do,
and its me you need to show,
how deep is your love.

Alas, a race between happiness and time would only produce an eventual and unwavering winner. However far, I send my love, through the stormy nights, I'll shield you from lightning, protect you from thunder. I'll be your knight and your servant, your shoulder and your ear. Five days was all that I had, five days was all that I needed. Tonight would be the last night I could sense and hold you, yet the remembrance, the memories, will keep me going forever.

Aloof and idealistic, unafraid to show vulnerability, to show fear. Capable, independent, unique. Witty, sweet, talented.

I have a dream girl, her name is Peyton Sawyer.

For I'll never go for looks, I go for the "it".

No other words need to be mentioned. This is for you, you know what lies beneath the music and lyrics.

And so it is, just like you said it would be,
i say yes, you look wonderful tonight.
You're beautiful, you know its true.

I can't take my eyes off you,
you leave me speechless when you talk to me.
lost and lonely, now you've given me the will to survive.
and i'm missing you, you know i'm such a fool for you.

Hands down, this is the best day I can ever remember,
the sound of the stereo, dim of the soft lights, the scent in your hair,
and i don't know why, i can't take my eyes off you.

Songs : The Blowers Daughter, Wonderful Tonight, You're Beautiful, Speechless, Linger, Love will keep us alive, Hands Down, You and Me.

The feeling is unfamiliar, the first of its kind. Staring back at me is you, unmoving, alas, it is merely just a photograph, a reminder that it will be all I would have of you. A picture cannot come alive, it can and will only represent. Yet your picture seems to be full of life, for it brings back vivid memories like a gush of strong wind. Your eyes, they remind me of when we first locked sight. I was left helpless, they rendered me speechless. They look elsewhere, perhaps searching. The picture is fitting, for I know, you would never look my way, maybe my existence is only part of your long lost memories. Insignificantly, I think that you're an angel but I guess you already know that, for I'm a mere mortal, the lesser between us, and ironically, it is your beauty and perfection that's an attraction, but also, an obstruction. For even though I'll hold tightly to the only thing I have of you, it is merely a picture, devoid of feelings, lack of devotion, and it fully represents.

You're a cut above all, a beauty, a rarity.
You're a breath of fresh air, the sole rose of every bouquet.
You're a gem, polished, refined, flawless.
You're a sight to behold, taking my breath away.
You're a dream, a lovely mirage.
You're a story to tell, a lullaby to sing.

Sadly, you're in a league of your own, you're unattainable to me.

She. She who graced me with her beauty, enchanted me with her presence. Her smile was disarming, leaving me completely vulnerable. Silently saying a grateful prayer, I thanked the heavens for the angel that they had sent to me. Perhaps undeserving, she was a pleasant surprise. All else simply faded into the background, insignificant, irrelevant. There I stood, rooted, captivated, caring not that we belonged in two different worlds, for she was in a league of her own, the elite that I knew I could never be part of.

She. She who represented everything beautiful. Her charm was transcending, leaving everyone else condescended. Everything had been forgotten, up till that moment, for the memories that remained of the time I spent around her would be etched in the deepest corners of my mind, never to disappear. She sang as she spoke, for all her words were music to my ears.

She. She who was the centre of my attention, target of my affections. She moved naturally on the dance floor, and though the music kept blasting from the speakers, it seemed that all I could hear were all that she said. For that night, it seemed like those words were all that would matter.

She. She who was perfection personnified. There might be no such thing as flawlessness but I knew she would be the closest I would ever find. Whoever said that angels do not exist must never have had met her before, for she was my living proof.

She. She who determined my happiness.

She.

You were a blessing in disguise.

It was my pleasure to have known you, on that day a few years ago. It seems a lot longer than it actually is, and yet it seems like seeing each other everyday only happened last week. Give me a choice and I wish things were different. My hopes were high and it appears to be unfounded. I guess this was more of my wishful thinking, our co dependency. I was reliant but you remained independent. I chose not to see it but its time I accepted it. Maybe one day, it could be your turn to look for me instead. I pray now that on that very day, I'll still be around, except that now, even I would scarcely believe it.

Thanks for being a wonderful friend, but time has taken its toll.

I am writing a reluctant end to the story.

Enchanting. Simple. Tragic. Intriguing. Never more appropriate words to describe the entry he was penning. The diary that would never have been shown, even to her suddenly seemed so vulnerable, so unprotected. What he once fought to keep a secret now no longer enjoyed that luxury. It was no longer worth fighting for. The world would hear what he had to say, for he no longer had an excuse to shy away any longer.

His efforts were futile. It was once told to him that he would reap what he had sowed, yet he found it strangely inapplicable in his situation. When they first locked eyes, he was immature, hot-headed and selfish. She represented angelic traits to him, but he could never be sure of the reliability of his biased opinions. The attempts to camouflage his weaknesses would weaken in time and the day that he felt her wrath due to his own undoing would remain as the darkest day in his life thus far.

It would serve as a jolt to him. Like a beast finally emerging from his slumber, the change was drastic and unimaginable, a change that he never thought himself to be capable of. It was no longer a question or whether he could but it was becoming a question of whether he wanted. He sought determination to be what he was not, and to seek the person that he knew he could be. Undeterred, he stepped past his boundary of comfort into somewhere unknown. Yet the unknown had proved fatal for him, the stab in the heart would leave a permanent mark, one which would serve as a constant reminder, and a constant source of pain.

I wish you could see what I've become but I guess it's all too late.

for music stands for all definitions, all languages. for music represents everything and anything. forever music will live.

Unattainable, irresistible. Two words that summed her up perfectly. The story remains simple. Yet within the simplicity lies anguish and regret. Let music repeat the narration of a love found and lost, in a language of its own, in the way only music is capable of.

Her. The one from my dreams. Ever present, yet I was previously oblivious. Inexplicable, unbelievable. The pain of regret no longer hurts, my sole reminder of her is the numbness, the emptiness. For she took my soul when she boarded her destiny-bound plane, one which the destination no longer mattered, as long as it remained out of my reach. My love remained represented in a letter, words that I failed to speak, for no particular reason save for cowardice, were penned in blind hope.

Let me hold you, for the last time, its the last chance to feel again. Here I go, scream my lungs out to try to get to you. Then I see you standing there, wanting more from me, and all I can do is try.

Alone with her in a foreign land. Strangers to others, but also strangers to each other. The lack of what should have been only contributed to the unfortunate irony. The love that could not have been shown in a place no less appropriate, the intimacy for all the wrong reasons. A time that never felt more right, and at the same time, never felt more painful.

Hands down this is the best day I can ever remember. Some people wait a lifetime for a moment like this. But our time is running out.

It was ignorance or denial. Or both. The moment that was never seized would haunt me. The feeble, fruitless attempt at rewriting all wrongs was rebuffed. Emotions that I had once held hidden from view, sealed in an envelope. The rightful hands which opened it would tremble, merely for awhile. The suspense and anticipation of an imaginary reciprocating gesture would soon be all the memories that I would have of that fateful day, for the gesture never arrived. She broke my heart, but the deeper pain came from knowing that I left her no other option.

The stars will cry the blackest tears tonight. What am I supposed to do when the best part of me was always you, and what am i supposed to say when I'm all choked up and you're okay. I couldn't make you see it that I loved you more than you'd ever know. When you're gone, the pieces of my heart are missing you. I just wish there was so much more than that, about me and you.




Songs used : Broken Strings by James Morrison, Only One by Yellowcard, Try by Nelly Furtado, Hands Down by Dashboard Confessional, A Moment Like This by Kelly Clarkson, Time Is Running Out by Muse, Anthem Of My Dying Day by Story Of The Year, Breakeven by The Script, Blind by Lifehouse, When You're Gone by Avril Lavigne, Mixtape by Butch Walker.

The beauty of regrets lies in knowing that you could have done otherwise, yet choosing the alternative knowing that you will regret after.

The cold wind reminded me of you caressing my face, with the warmth only you could provide. It was the smallest things that mattered, the twirling of your hair, the smirk on your face. Even the deafening noises of the plane taking off would never mask the pain felt the day that you left, the day your plane flew over my head and I looked up, inevitably, at nothing in particular, simply following my feelings. My attempts to stop you were nothing short of futile, perhaps they should have been grander, but you always told me you prefer simple. You flew off to fulfill your own destiny, leaving mine rewritten. An ending that was supposed to be long ago finished suddenly did not seem as stable, as concrete, and what was once inked into the pages of a finished novel could now be erased in the blink of an eye. Ignorance was never the equivalence of rejection. Looking at the rain dribble down the rooftops, I cannot help but imagine what might have been, yet now I have only regrets to live for, and they provide me with all that I need to carry on.

Funny how the regrets appear to haunt you everywhere, perhaps forever they will remain, vulnerable but still ever-lastingly beautiful.

I hope you choose to let me go.

Fairness comes from within, she once told me, you only get what you deserve, nothing more, nothing less. She reminded me if I had only myself to blame. The argument was futile, down a never-ending one way street. Partly it was due to my fondness for her. Somehow, her words made sense to me, better than all the books I've ever read from cover to cover. Whatever that you choose now, her words rang in my ear, will only affect what you happens later, for anything with an immediate effect will only be temporary.

She told me she knew it was never easy to make a choice, that it was never my fault since the beginning. For you merely know the consequences, she said, only when you know you've made the wrong choice, and by then, it'll all be too late. Such irony, for it was my choice at the end that was wrong, my choice that told me I never should have chosen her. A consolation would not suffice, for she represented my final and last hope, a dream that would soon be dashed.

The implications of your choice will come to pass, she carried on, hopefully its not too late to realise, and to change. There is nothing wrong with regretting but it would be a worse choice not to act upon it. This was a mistake, one that I'd find out in time to come. For now, the choice remained steady and unwavering, it was her. A lonely heart would remain lonely, still seeking its companion, for I had no one else to shoulder the blame but myself, for making the wrong choice.

You would have been mine, if only I had the right to choose.

Dream a little dream of me...

It was of a beginning, one that had never existed, nor will it ever. The beginning seemed to signify something important, was it a radical change or a sign for the near future. It remained mystifying since the day that it happened. It began slowly, unravelling at certain points, and the uneasiness and discomfort caused was slowly replaced by desire and submission. This was never openly admitted, for it would have destroyed something that had potential for so much more. As the story unfolded by itself, it seemed to play out just the way the actor, not the scriptwriter, wanted it to be. It was as if the story knew what he silently pleaded for, and that it knew he could never say those thoughts out. Yet at the end of the charade, he could not help but to feel ashamed with a tinge of regret, for he had committed what he once promised himself never to do. The memories of that fine day would be remembered for the guilt after it had happened, but it would also remain unforgettable, as a best kept secret came alive, and while only in a dream, it was the best I could have ever hoped for.

Your move first, sweetheart.

He was like a pawn in a chess game. Just a pawn, nothing more. The rings of "know your place, you're just a rookie" were perpetually in his head and for some unexplicable reason, they made so much sense. They were his barricades, barriers that prevented him from moving forward. Reluctant, he knew he could move forward, whether by a square or even two. It mattered, the difference was vast between two squares, yet he did not make his move at all. Seeing his compatriots advance into battle and dying in the process only empowered his cowardice. For they say the brave may not live long, but the cautious don't live at all. How true it proved to be. He found solace with his bishop and attempted to make use of him as a shield, to give him the strength to push forward but never to go forward alone. The bishop lunged forward into the queen's fortress but only made it as far as the castle, for it was then that he was seized, never to return. Once again, the pawn was all alone. Advancing slowly, square by square, he knew, his only hope was to reach his destination, whether by skill or by stealth, it did not matter. He was oblivious to the fact that he had both in abundance. It was to be his downfall. Seeing the rook in a vulnerable position suddenly gave him a burst of courage to lunge forward and hammer the final nail in his coffin. Alas, it was the wrong and final move that he would be able to make. Blind to the fact that the knight was in prime position, his victory was short-lived. He never got to experience the bittersweet taste, for when he turned around, he found himself facing the wrong end of a sword, wielded by the knight in shining armour. Defeated, he took one last long glance at his king, who he had attempted to serve so valiantly in the past. Catching sight of the queen of the opposing castle, he was struck by her beauty and temporarily threw his imminent death to the back of his head. With a thrust of the sword, the pawn slumped onto the ground, contented, nonetheless beaten.

Checkmate darling.

It's always possible to make use of the advantages given to you, no matter how bad the circumstance is. I learnt this at work this year and despite already having gone for a holiday, I'm itching for more. Despite the setback in planning of a labour day's holiday, I'm still looking forward to Thailand in July. I figured that there was hardly any point taking leave to stay in Singapore, especially since I'm fortunate enough to be able to take it at my own time, hence, I've planned out a forecast of holidays that I shall attempt to go on this year, provided no other major changes happen this year. I guess we're all due a good rest sometime or another, it just depends on what we sacrifice to attain it. Upon experiencing Thailand last march, I felt first-hand how helpful and refreshing the trip was, both for my mind and body. Anyway, since I cannot bring over leave to next year, I shall use it for a family trip in September and save up for the big one, Australia at the end of the year. Hopefully there are more public holidays where I can go overseas for long weekends without having to take away my leave. Fingers crossed.

I had a dream that I never wish to forget last night. My feelings for a dream girl were reciprocated. For those who read this and think that know who she is, you are probably wrong. I've never named her, but last night, my secret prayers were answered, just for a few hours. It's sad that I've relied on a dream but that's just the way it has to be. In order to never forget that moment, I've decided to pen it down so as to prevent it from being wiped away by the sands of time.

She was the girl of my dreams. She moved alluringly,  her smile natural, captivating. Her eyes told stories by themselves. She was accomodating but determined, clever yet innocent, unabashed and unapologetic. Her character won me over, how she could talk about the most idealistic things while remaining strongly rooted to the ground. How she told about fantastic ideas that she knew would probably never happen, how she grew into a responsible woman but retaining her child-like innocence. Most of all, it was her imperfections. They reminded me she were still human, but the ability to conceal them while accentuating her strengths dumbfounded me, and I was convinced she was an angel.

Alas, it was all just a dream. I would name her but I couldn't, for fear of her reading this. She's a dream girl, yet a person I know as a friend, all at the same time, and even though i know, I would have been crossing the line, I would never ever want to forget the dream I had last night.

its amazing how the best part of work is enjoyed in claustrophobic space contained within dilapidation. Such is the irony.