I don't

I don’t feel anything anymore. No sadness. No melancholy. No nothing. Maybe I’m just tired. And the faculty of emotions shut down before I could decide.

But I could still tell the difference between the two. One year in between. The earlier December, I sound consistent. Consistently and relatively contented and happy about life. The later December, I sound tired and I was dreaming a lot.

It all began with you and ended with you.

Impetuous. Is that me? Maybe this December would be of content and happiness if I just sat on it and didn’t ask to talk about it. Why didn’t I?

But tonight, it didn’t seem that it mattered anymore. Maybe it’s just tonight.

And I’m just tired. And I am just tired. I am going to sleep now.

You are what I'm avoiding

Is 25 minutes enough time to finish writing a blog entry?

I found hot decaf hazelnut latte to be very nice too. If the iced one feels like a refreshing shower to tired minds, then somehow, the hot version feels like a nice warm shower to calm the nerves.

I'm not getting very good with metaphors.

Where would I find another someone to meet for dinner at 9pm and then, head out to a cosy and hardly populated Starbucks to just watch buses pass by on a weekday evening? Lightly dusting the time with far away dreams, distant hopes... and melancholic sighs of a regrettable past?

Time passed is all in relation to the day when faith fell through everything and became nothing. So, the days have passed in such fashion. Another day of successfully avoiding an impossible reconciliation.

How come we all don't make sense after a while?

It's so difficult, so difficult to reconcile. Where do I turn to when I am lonesome even in dreams? There is much breeze where we used to stroll. But it's getting too cold. Too sobering. Too lonely.

And this is where I stop.

25 minutes is more than enough. More than enough to make you lost in reading me.