Strange city, strange time and a strangled state of mind.

Here nothing is my own, not the home I live in, not the bed I sleep in and not the personality put on display.

And for the first time in 21 years.... I'm lost.

A life well lived must be left behind. Aquaintances will go to waste.

 Friendships must be strained. A part of a family will be less broken.

And maybe its better this way.

A new set cant have ghosts from the past. New scenery cant remind you of prior hurt.

A new city cant have people who loved you and left you.

There will be new cafe`s, not like the ones where we talked for hours about which cousin came out on top.

There will be new malls, not like the ones we spent all sunday in trying on the perfect black dress and giggling about why i was wearing a sexy bra.

There will be new restaurants, not like the ones where we ate and condemned a cow in.

New clubs, ones which wont have you dancing close behind me, holding me close, house music on the decks.

There will be new cars to ride in, new gear shifts to hold hands over and new tryes to change.

There will be a new home, not one that will be open to any of you at three in the morning.

There will be a new bed, different from the one we spent all week falling in love in.

A new bathroom, one without coed showers.

There will be a new me.

A new start, another chance, a better beginning.

And yet....... I just want to go home, take off this uniform and leave the show.

It’s a bad thing when the sole content in your fridge is a near empty bottle of vodka. Apparently.

And its a bad thing when u stay in the confines of four walls so long that there’s a pile of newspapers outside the door

And u can’t remember the last time you put on a new shirt cause the pile of laundry overwhelms the machine

And there are so many missed calls from people who don’t matter or numbers you don’t know that your cell phone runs out of memory space. Apparently.

And apparently.... “Its not the end of the world”

What defines the “apparently” and exactly who’s “world” are we talking about?

But life moves on and shit happens. So you gotta keep your chin up, get over it, suck it up an think of the next step.

The next step being the only other fuckin alternative when all of the other doors of opportunity slam shut in your face.

So yea.... everyone is packing suitcases, confirming tickets and throwing farewell lunches and happy hour rendezvous

While others are still waiting for clarity and suicidal impulses to either arrive or disappear.

 Whichever and in whatever order they choose to.

But hey, apparently all the shit that gets thrown at you along the way is just fate, karma, destiny.... its written,

In such big bold letters that people make an entire living by throwing around cards or tea leaves and reading it out for you.

And most people agree with the cards or the soggy tea leaves because destiny and fate are so much prettier to face as compared to the harsh reality that just... maybe just ...they didn’t make the grade, that they weren’t good enough,

 That in the simplest of terms... They failed.

Apparently you can’t call yourself a failure (I’m sure everyone else will do it for u) cause that’s just wrong.

So what happens when you do?

What happens when u realise that you’re just not good enough and no matter what excuses people give you, you know that

You can’t make the cut?

Suddenly everything isn’t so apparent anymore huh?     

The frame... open glass doors, lotus printed curtains that rile restlessly in the warm summer breeze that blows in over my bonsai. Perfect. The setting is what it is and we asked for no more.

The lighting... minimal, dark. a faint glow of the suspension bridge in the faraway distance and the main source from a nokia communicator screen. Bright. Battery operated. Pure white.

The dialogue... nonexistent. Unnecessary and technically hard to execute.

The story unfolds....

 We sat there looking out at nothing, saying nothing and thinking nothing. Time was either moving slowly or was inconsequential. Whichever.

We sat there not looking at each other but we were both smiling... slow, seductive, secret smiles. At that time of night the encapsulated world of the building complex was quiet. No noise except the sound of you moving closer to me and the chemical brothers saying “hey girl, hey boy”. How ironically apt.

There is a warm breeze blowing across my face and my palms are sweaty against the wood of the floor. There is you and you are so persuasive. The three-month stand off dissolves in a matter of three seconds and I finally give in. why I fought you for so long is hard to recall at this juncture. I did. That’s the past. This is now. We are in the present. The collective ‘we’ instead of just a ‘you’ and ‘me’. How spontaneously and easily these little details fall into place.

So now its you, me, us, we right there on the floor cross legged and quiet. I'm heady over the way you smell and how good you taste.

The warm breeze turns chill.  The proximity between us is further reduced. I'm thinking about how good you feel against me. I’m warm again.

I have come to the realization that happiness is an endangered species.

But then again true happiness is relative. It’s relative and vagrant and vacillating.

If happiness had a persona it would be a schizophrenic gypsy on speed!!

But im wandering.... where are all the shiny happy people?

If you think about it, no one is TRULY happy.

Maybe that’s because all that surrounds us, our pasts and our knowledge banks and the people we let in, influences us.

And if you do the math then we are effectively influenced by the music, literature, art and conversations that we are exposed to on a daily basis, on an every minute basis.

The best literature, art, music and conversation is just plain, no other way to interpret it, Tragic. Morbid. Depressing. Oppressive and Downright Dark

The clearest memories we carry from our past are the painful ones.

The people we hold onto the strongest are the ones who have the ability to hurt us the most.

The problem with happiness is that its a flat, one dimensional emotion. It elicits just one sentiment... joy.

Whereas... TRAGEDY... tragedy is the damn philharmonic orchestra all by itself.

Its layered, its convoluted, its so beautifully complicated that when you get caught in the eye of its storm, the tears blind you and your breath comes in sporadic bursts and the synaptic activity in your brain halts rendering you baffled and broken.

Sorrow, loneliness, faithlessness,  despondency,  depression, distress, desperation, jealousy, grief, anguish, bereavement, misery and pain ...... is what tragedy can elicit.

Sadness is real.

It’s so real that when it lashes out and cuts deep it leaves a scar.

And through the happy, mindless,numbing times.... that scar is the only thing that can  makes you feel.