In Continuum.

Her drowsy voice answered me from the other side of the receiver, and I figured that she was probably sleeping at that point in time. She cleared her throat and blew her nose, and the ruffling of the sheets could be heard from the other side as I tried to compose myself on mine. "Hello?", she said, soft and delicate, as if what I was about to say would break the beauty of it all. I apologized for the hour of the call, for it was late in the night and I knew that she had to wake early. I apologized some more, and then again for the randomness of what I was about to say. Random, because I hadn't plan on doing what I did, it wasn't something I meant to do tonight before I went to bed. I wanted to turn up the volume of Amon Tobin's two albums that I downloaded, I wanted to eat the muffin on the coffee table. I wanted to watch television until it was time for bed, and I wanted to study a little bit before I hit the sacks. But everything came to a grinding halt, everything stopped when I took out a pen and a paper and started writing a letter. Everything started falling into perspective back then, and I do not deny that things were starting to scare me just a little bit. 

Which is why I made that phone call, I was desperate to express my thoughts to somebody. I knew she would be there, she has always been a button away. So I dialed her number, and there she was on the other side, ready to listen to what I had to say. So I made a brief speech, blabbered on and on about things that really could have waited till the morning, things that I wanted to say. It was a short phone call, probably no more than a minute or two at the balcony. Still, I felt relieved at the end of it all, comforted that somebody out there understood and knew what was going through me, even when I didn't know what was, truth to be told. I suppose that is what happens when you share the same frequency with someone, when someone out there gets you. It feels good to know that when you are lost within yourself, someone will find you and pull you out from the inside, then make everything OK again. I don't know what came over me tonight, and I don't suppose I ever will. I don't know if there was more to what I said, or was it a spur of the moment thing - an impulse. Still, like the decision you made to walk home from school that day, or like how you would stop in your tracks and play with a stray cat, things don't always need to have a reason sometimes. 

I hung up the phone and felt like I lifted an anvil off my chest. It felt liberating as it was elating, and then the moment was gone. I folded up the letter at the coffee table, carried my books into my bedroom and started on this blog entry - for no reasons at all. I walked through the living room in an L shape, always like a knight in a chess game. I sat down in front of the computer and made sure that everything was in right angle to the bottom of the table before I started on this. Like the way that you place everything in order around your bed at night, the way you eat your tomatoes first before you move on to the rest of the Subway sandwich, we are both so weird and so very strange. Then again, I suppose, with our knobs turned to the right frequencies over the airwaves, even our little quirks could become so beautiful and perfect. Thanks for picking up the phone just now, thanks for listening in and hearing me out. You saved my life tonight, and for that I thank you so very much. Knock, knock, bang, lock, yosh! I love you, more than you'd ever know. Too. To me, you're strange and you're beautiful.