In Continuum.

Sleep, Don't Weep

Sleep, don't weep
My sweet love
Your face is all wet
And your day was rough

So do what you must do to find yourself
Wear another shoe, paint my shelves
Those times that I was broke, and you stood strong
I think I found a place where I...

Watching the clouds in the night, reminded me of the childish idea that I had when I was a kid. I used to think that at night, the clouds were disappear for some reason, because the darkness in the skies would swallow them all up like a monster feasting on cotton candies. But of course, as I grew older, I found out that clouds are the result of evaporation and condensation, and since those two processes happen at any time of the day, one shouldn't find it odd to see clouds in the skies at night either.

There I was at my bedroom window just watching as the clouds went by in the soaring wind, lightnings from far off in the distance, followed lazily by the crack of thunder across the sky. It was about to rain, and I smelled it in my nostrils the coming of yet another storm. And it is weather like that that makes you think about things, things unwanted and better left forgotten. I wished dearly that there was somebody there to hold me, or the way I used to message the old love and tell her about my woes. She was always there in the morning, always asking if I was doing all right, if I was doing OK. But of course, in nights like this when you are pondering over unanswerable questions, there are only so many sides of you body you can turn to for comfort. But neither sides provide any emotional comfort, because no matter which side you face, you are just shuffling the broken pieces inside around. They don't heal, but regroup into a configuration to hurt some more.

Sleep, don't weep,
My sweet love
Your face it's all wet
'Cause our days were rough

So do what you must do to fill that hole
Wear another shoe to comfort the soul
Those times that I was broke, and you stood strong
I think I found a place where I feel I will...

I think a found a place where I feel I will be OK, momentarily anyway. Like I said before, this little written journal of mine has been keeping me companied in the early hours of the day, and the late hours of the night. Writing them down felt so infinitely better than typing sometimes, because once you finish writing, you close the pages and you put the book away. It's not like it is going to pop up on your computer screen just because you accidentally click on the 'Back' button or whatever. Which is great, because the last thing I need now is a bloody reminder of things. Give me time, I'm still battling with it.

I pictured the emotions flowing into my right arm, crossing the veins and into the tips of my fingers. They seep through the skin, through minute pores and then into the tube of black ink in my pen. Down the tube they flowed, and blending with the black liquid, they call came alive in a miniature explosion. They fought their way to the tip of the ball-point pen, and onto the pages they eventually flowed, where they eventually end up. So, like exorcising a ghost or a spirit from the body, I have eradicated those emotions on the pages, and theoretically speaking I am supposed to feel better about it, right?

Sleep, don't weep,
My sweet love
My face it's all wet
'Cause my day was rough

So do what you must do to find yourself
Wear another shoe, paint my shelves
Those times that I was broke, and you stood strong
I hope I find a place where I feel I belong

But the twisted irony is, even though I have given my all, it doesn't start to feel any better. With or without these emotions, it still feels the same. The greatest comfort, would be a message or two from you somehow. But why should I bother? Why should I seek comfort in you? I have no idea. You, of all people. Whatever was I thinking.

It started raining, and I could hear the sound of rain on the metal roof of the air-conditioning unit outside. My mother woke up, and wrapped in her blanket she looked like a ghost wandering through the corridors. I woke up startled, and with my limited vision I took half a second to realize that it was my mother, going around the house and inspecting the windows. My sister on the other hand, was in the bedroom yelling just how scary the howling was, I couldn't help but laugh.

She came into my room then, and it was a little over four in the morning. She asked why wasn't I asleep yet, and I told her that I was thinking about things. She sat by the bed, and was just waiting for me to say something. But the howling of the wind grew stronger, and the splattering of the rain became harder. The emotions and the thoughts were pushed back down my throat, just before they reached my lips. She went back to bed swiftly after being convinced that I'd be fine, but the moment her silhouette disappeared from my doorway, I started cursing under my breath and into the hollows of the blanket.

Thoughts were all over the place, and I'm still trying my best to piece them together. It is a little past noon now, and still I am a little messed up about yesterday night. When you have been so dependent on a single source of comfort, it is not easy then to let it go and get used to the life without it. It's like the addiction to cigarettes or drugs, you don't just take it away and expect the addict to live a normal life swiftly after. Or the death of a loved one, and as over-rated as people say about death, it is just a breath's difference between life and death. So just like that, a person can be out of your life, and you are left alone to deal with the harsh reality all by yourself.

I guess I just wanted some form of comfort, a comfort that perhaps resembled the ones you so kindly gave me. But they don't mean too much anymore, those words that you said to me on the phone on your way to work. I remember the sound of your card beeping on the sensing machine, and the sound of the bus rumbling down the road one early Monday morning. It felt good already, just to hear your voice over the phone with my eyes half closed and heart fully opened - feeling loved. I wonder where those feelings escaped to, probably just sucked up by you - every last drop of it - till there is nothing left.

Sleep, don't weep,
My sweet love
My face is all wet
'Cause my day was rough...