In Continuum.

Dear Sunday

This will all make perfect sense someday
I'll be A-OK
This will all make perfect sense someday
There’s got to be a reason for the rain

I bathed until my skin felt sore this afternoon. The skin wrinkled up and turned into a skin-colored prune at the tips of every finger, and the hot water made their red marks as they trickled down the undulating body of mine. I felt the soapy section in the hollow of my back, still untouched by the water, forgotten by myself until I felt it with my pruned fingers. But it mattered little, like everything on this Sunday afternoon, it mattered too little.

The bubbles were mounted upon my head like a crown. My fingers ran through my hair like ten plowing machines, separating the soapy hair into eight neat rows only to have them merge back into place almost instantaneously. I scratched until my scalp felt sore as well, the way a skin would feel if you've rubbed it over too many times. I thought I felt a sharp pain as the water ran through the carefully plowed land. It must have opened a wound in my hair or something, but like everything else it mattered so little. Because as I stood there, watching the water flow through the trough between my knuckles, there was an overwhelming agreement with life that I have given up and that I have succumbed to the negativity within myself. So much so, that my mother came to the door and asked if I was doing OK in the bathroom, and even her soft whispers from her side of the door gave no comfort, as I cuddled myself in the corner of the bathtub as the water ran on and on, ceaselessly into the youthful Sunday evening.

All my bills have all gotten paid
I saved the bad, i broke the bank
This could have been a slow song
A laundry list of all the wrongs
But at the end of the day
This is my beautiful disaster piece I’ve made
And it goes, and I quote, and I never would lie:

Running my eyes down the list of contacts in my computer, and the majority of them were in my 'Offline' list. They were probably outside in town, feeling the bustling of the strange crowds, or enjoying that fragrance in the air, the kind that only the air outside your house can provide. I picked a random friend off the list, and then I pictured her in town, well-dressed, laughing and talking over lunch with a boy, or a girl, whoever that may be. I picked another random friend off the list, this time a person whom I have never seen before. But it wasn't difficult either, to imagine her strolling down the pavements that lined Orchard, hand in hand with some guy whose face or name wouldn't ring a bell if told to me. People all about the country, taking full advantage of this beautiful Sunday after the rain, going out and having the time of their lives before the next dreadful week begins again. But here I am, stuck before the gloom of my own computer, wondering what the hell I am doing with my own life.

Truth to be told, the life being single has been hard. And it is not made remotely easier with your friends getting attached, telling you about their significant others, and how they intend to spend their lovely weekends together. Nothing is very much different in your inner-workings of course. Your heart still pretty much beats in the very same pace, and your lungs still work at the regular rate, single or attached. But somewhere deep inside the emotional core, something is always missing when you have tasted the sweets and then thrown back into the bitter. I hate myself for sneering at couples inside my head, or imagining myself breaking their heads on concrete walls. There was a time when I was like them, and that is the exact reason why I am beating myself up mentally over everything. Happiness is not my cup of tea right now, and there is a certain repulsive sensation that comes along with the public announcement of one's happiness these days. As cheap as I might have sounded in the last sentence, I really cannot care less.

This will all make perfect sense someday
I'll be A-OK
This will all make perfect sense someday
There’s got to be a reason for the rain

On a lazy Sunday afternoon such as this one, I took off all my clothes and stared at myself for a moment in the dimmed bathroom. In the gloom of it all, with the dying noise of the construction downstairs and the sounds of the cars homeward bound, I felt the cool surface of the mirror with my forehead, and then with the tips of my fingers I wiped the small pools of water that gathered around the brink of the sink off the edge. They roll down, and I felt tiny sprinkles of rain upon my toes, and the feeling was refreshing, and especially on an unmotivated Sunday afternoon such as today's. I need a breakthrough, to do something outrageous or wild, to show that this loneliness is not binding me down on myself. But with all these around me, optimism is beginning to seem so very hard.

So I just wanted to talk to somebody, perhaps face to face. The confinements of words on blogs and MSN chat windows was suffocating, despite the freedom involved. I wanted to talk, I wanted to really talk, I wanted to say whatever I had in mind to somebody who is not going to judge, or to be appalled by whatever that I have to say. But then again, reality sets in and dates were canceled, timings were re-scheduled, and the supposed coffee session in the afternoon with a friend was postponed. It's not like there is a place for me to start blaming anybody, a reason to do so anyway. Perhaps I am sounding incoherent right now, but this Sunday is making me feel a little odd around the edges.

I don't understand the numbers
But my faith is in the math
And the odds are all this pain will even out in the end
And we'll look back and laugh

I am waiting on the day when everything will make a sort of perfect sense. I am waiting on the day when I am going to be able to explain why this happened to me, or why that didn't happen to me. Like, there is a certain confusion involved within myself as to why I told my mother while being in the shower that I was OK, that she should get away from the bathroom as far as possible, and how I did all those with a smile on my face and the sore upon my skin. Perhaps someday, I'd be able to decipher all the moans and groans I uttered into the concaved parts of my pillow, to make meanings out of those alien languages whenever the heart aches or breaks all over again.

I just wish somebody could come up to me, and tell me what the hell is going on with me, to make sense out of everything. To tell me why a simple, uneventful Sunday afternoon can turn into an incoherent entry such as this one. Thoughts are just flying overhead, like dreams in an uneasy sleep. When it comes to unraveling, nothing beats better than a rational explanation, or somebody to piece you together all over again. Perhaps this boredom is getting to me again, I need school to start tomorrow and fast. It has been such a great distraction from everything, even from life. I dread weekends now, because there isn't somebody waiting for me at the end of each one. Just myself, the room, the same old furnitures and the same playlists.

And to all the hearts i've broken
And the ones that once broke mine
I've got suspicions all will be forgive in time
All you gotta do is call them up and say:

This will all make perfect sense someday
I'll be A-OK
This will all make perfect sense someday
There’s got to be a reason for the rain

And if it ever gets bad, i mean really bad
I'll move to Nova Scotia and forget the life i had
Be up at nine each morning down by the shore
Collecting things that fell off boats in storms
Okay, so i might never but it’s nice to know the options there
The options there...

This will all make perfect sense someday
I'll be A-OK
This will all make perfect sense someday
There’s got to be a reason for the rain
A reason for the rain, a reason for the rain
The reason for the rain, for the rain

And it doesnt help that i keep biting my lip in the same place