In the Dark, do we truly Dance

Hello my darling:

I miss you so. I miss you so much that I actually can imagine how hard my life without you is. Others might preach it, but I’m actually living through this said agony. I thought life would be full of parties and booze and cigarettes, all the contraband stuff that happens when one’s free from commitments. I guess I don’t just belong in that category, but rather going back to my natural side: which is of course, a good loving house-husband. We used to joke about that. 

They say tomorrow is the end of the world. It’s the last day of humanity, that last stretch we all have to cross. It’s the end of the line for all us, the epic conclusion to all the happy and sad and both the just and unjust things that has happened to the whole of us. I never really believed that the world would go out with a bang, but if it did, I’m glad that I met my future wife so damn early. 

It’s been a joy, an absolute honour to have held your hand through the last 8 years of my life. When the world goes, even no matter how insignificant we were, a tiny speck of dust floating in a world full of uncertainties, our story was written with sweat and blood, annexed in living history both the living and the dead. It was a wonderful journey that I never in my wildest dreams thought could have undertaken, even more so with such a lovely woman. 

I just thought you should know, you made a very happy and fulfilled man out of me, and I can actually visualise working hard for our future ahead. The world may end today, tomorrow or even a week later, but not in this lifetime my undying love for you.My last thoughts would not of regret, but hope for in my next lifetime, because even then I would be there for you, with you, all so waiting patiently.

I will always be that guy who watches you with bated breath as you do absolutely anything, be it sipping from a cup or watching telly. I will pay with an arm and a leg to watch the sunrise with you, kiss you on the cheek like I did before at East Coast after our morning cycle. I hold my breath, riveted whenever you doll up for an occasion, wondering to God how much more sensual or beautiful can this woman get.

Do you have any idea what a peek of your legs can do to me, to hold me in a trance for the rest of the day?

Loving you is such a painfully exciting process that it’s addictive, that i want to lie in bed, just to hold you close and stroke your hair aside as you sleep and snore peacefully on my chest. I will smile and look out my window, contented. I can see that now with my eyes closed. You are stunning.

Through the years, I might have transformed into different faces, but when everytime I face you, and look into those big brownish-black eyes of yours, I find my identity, I find my source of love and sanity. I know where my place in the world is, and I’m not a wandering soul anymore.

I know where the rest of my life is, not staring into a dark abyss of uncertainty or loss, but to watch those eyes till they close forever. 

You are my all year round summertime happiness, my favourite season to bask in your warmth, the cuddle of your rib-crushing hugs, your enthusiasm infectious, the faint scent of your water in your hair when I bury my nose in it.

I love every bit of you, and I know not what would have happened if your didn’t had me at hello. I wished you will come back quickly; look at me, pining like a little girl. Till then, from the deepest depth of my heart, but then again you should already know…



1 Hr 15 Mins

It’s been awhile since I last felt anything remotely as strong as this - this gnawing feeling of dread and sadness, the consistent, soft fluttering wings of the butterflies in the pit of my stomach.

I am no stranger to these tidal waves of emotions, each and every one threatening to break the dam, each and every wave smashing and battering against this thin veil of which we have aptly named it our Sanity; the true meaning of the word disguised as a tool to shield of ourselves of this rage of feelings. The soundness of the mind is non-existent.

Do you ever had days you felt like a stretched rubber band? The painful stretch, the period of time that seemed to stretch longer with every minute, the strain on you a temptation to give up, to give in and snap back regardless of the repercussions.

Those days seemed to stretch into days, into weeks, and into years. I never had the intention of making you mine - everything seemed to fall into place, the days I chased you relentlessly, the chain of messages and letters we used to give one another through the nights and special occasions.

For awhile, it seemed too good to be true. In fact, it never seemed real to me. Everything was so surreal, so unrealistic, but yet there was no doubt, a sense of happiness in everything we did. Everything was perfect, the sun shone brighter, the wind blew harder, and the birds sang, whenever you were around.

I loved stroking your hair, running my fingers through those thin threads of softness and taking in the scent of it all. I remember the first time I planted my nose into this wonderful curtain, ‘it smells of…water.’ was the first thing I said. Till today, you are the only woman whose hair smells like so, and it never fails to hold my breath, as though trying to capture the essence of it in that one breath.

Sending you home was a pleasure - I could spend more time with you while driving you home, tapping on the brakes every now and then, slowing down more often than I needed to, because every few seconds counted. 

I never had the chance to drop you off in front of your house, it was always down Guillemard Road, turn left, then right into a tiny alley, squeezing through the row of cars parked hapzardly on the side, and right again.

That was where I could drop you off, beside your house, and out of sight from your parents and family. It never once occurred to me this was to continue into a long-standing agreement. Honestly, it didn’t matter to me, because I could watch you step safely through the gates and back home. 

The journey home was always a long and lonely one. There were times I felt accomplished, and stepped on the pedal so I could rush home to get some sleep before work the next day.

There were times I nearly got into accidents, those that catches your breath and leaves you wide-eyed with sweaty palms, because I was so tired. (I never told you because I never wanted you to worry) There were times too, I simply rolled down the window and sang my heart out to Wonderwall by Oasis. Didn’t matter if passing cars thought I was crazy. 

Sometimes, it was a quiet drive back home, music turned down low, the hum of the engines my only companion. These times, my thoughts usually were attuned to you. I had these crazy imaginations of unicorns on lorries, Skittle-covered roads, but one of which stuck around pretty long.

If something ever happened to me on the way back, I would be pretty regretful I never got to send you home, right to your doorstep. Perhaps I could say hi to your parents, perhaps I could have played ball with Romeo, or perhaps I could have walked into your room and stared at the green walls of your room, just for the sake of it.

I would have given anything to walk into your house, into your room, without condemnation from your folks, one more time.

You were very sick one time, and in my haste, I travelled all the way to your house in the morning, and brought you food and soya. But I had to pass it through your bathroom window, at the back alley. I felt like a criminal, a petty thief, but I couldn’t bear to tell you this, because there was nothing you could have done. Every now and then, when I turned right into the alley, the feeling still lingers. Maybe it will fade someday, maybe.

There are so many things I want to tell you, but I have realized I cannot. Sometimes constant reminders only are as effective as snooze alarms - you take notice, but you stall for more time anyway. And nothing is done about it, till the next ring.

I consider myself a very watchful guardian of yours, a secret pledge I might have scribbled somewhere on a notepad long ago, to make sure you stayed safe, and no one out there to hurt or cheat you. That might have made me seem like the most unfriendly partner on the planet, but hey, everything comes with a price. 

But what can I do if you voluntarily put yourself in harm’s way, and refuse to listen to me? I can dispense my usual prescription of advice, stories of my own experiences, but at the end of the day, it’s your call. It always has been.

I might not be able to pledge myself whole heartedly to support your decisions, but I will always watch over you, look after you, and of course, pray that God help that poor soul(s) who thinks you are easy prey. 

My mind is filled with so much thoughts, junk and irrelevant mental mail, I can hardly comprehend what my fingers are churning out. Just one of those days standing in the running shower, eyes shut tight and fists clenched against the cold polished wall was a remedy. I feel like a rubber band, and for the first in a long time, the snap back feels imminent, dangerous, and thoughtless.

With much love,



The magic of first love is our ignorance that it can never end.

 - Benjamin Disraeli


     Talk is cheap. 

     They exist, in a combination of syllables that hangs in the cold air, balanced precariously, the weight of it teetering towards dual choices of great importance.

     They never last, for their existence slips quietly beyond the borrowed promise of tomorrow.

     Have you ever thought that words that we say never really lasts, or meant anything at all. Yet each letter, each word, that we struggle to pronounce turns out to be another sorry excuse passing off as the cover note of what we truly want to say.

     We spend seconds, minutes, mentally scrutinizing each syllable, each consonant. We grind it down to the perfect structure, crafting the best form of delivery, smoothing out each crease and fold of our words…

     And in turn, we often overlook the essence of ever beginning. At the very end, burying the meaning of what our hearts so yearn to say, we have only ourselves to blame.

      This vicious cycle never saw the shimmer of light at the end of the tunnel, and neither did we. Intrigued and enslaved by the false pretense of this facade, in an ironic twist do we only hold tighter to the seams of our emotional jackets, wrapping ourselves in a beautifully crafted lie.

     A chance to redeem ourselves from this debacle of heartbreaks. A flicker of opportunity to have prevented silent episodes of tears and twisted sheets. Could we have made this work?

     There was a time when you were the Sun, radiant and glorious, illuminating the path to happiness in the midst of grey clouds and darker vibes. That time seems to be over, and that self of you that we knew had disappeared.

     Run, run, run, all the things we could have done, to salvage what was ever left in the smoking ruins, seemed too late.

     It always seemed too late. The prelude to a tragedy, the beginning of a fresh episode, the toiling of church bells signaling the dawn of a new day.

     But when we look back, the promises of rainbows and sunshine paved in front, the route seemingly easy to tread, we would only ever see that we left something far more promising behind.

     Brush through the memories, the laughter and joy, the hugs and kisses, the warmth of afternoon cuddles and comfort of night spoonings, the simple assurance of your fingers curled around mine, our smiles as innocent and pure as children, we would see the very poison that we concocted to destroy what we had always loved most.

     Words we were too proud to share, to whisper softly into the other’s ear, too scared, too shy to breathe it out, for fear of rejection, for fear of judgment. And at the end of the day, we inevitable squeezed the life out of our love.

     Talk is cheap. And we paid dearly for it.