Brown Paper Bag Blog

behind me and beyond the glass windows are red tiles and alfresco cafes and sullen parking meters. occassionally, a double-parking car pulls out nonchalantly from its spot and drives away. but almost instantly another car will slide in smoothly to fill up that space; a snobby proud space that is not used to being lonely. observing this fluid replacement mechanism from afar, i feel a little bit jealous. sometimes i wish things were as easy as double parking.

i bought a pretty dress the other day. it’s pink and white and short and i love it. as i was trying the dress on, i thought of him, and i thought of how when we meet in 2 weeks’ time, i’ll greet him with this dress. i’ll be standing there and he’ll walk towards me, smiling and sweeping his eyes over my new dress, and he will know that i bought it just for him. just to celebrate our 3rd time back together to our city - this city of traffic and glass noodles and handholding and americanos with milk added.

many things are not to be. i refuse to be a rag doll tossed around from one ultimatum to another by means of uncertainty and opinion. i just want to sit here and sulk and be rightfully angry. the half-eaten oreo cheesecake sitting in front of me, with its aggravating bits of cookies and chocolate syrup drizzled in an irritating crisscross all over it, is irking the hell out of me. such saccharide smugness. i have a sudden urge to eat it all so that i dont have to look at it anymore.

i chose to be alone today, but right now i’m beginning to realize i may have made the wrong choice. there is no one but myself to listen to these unfair thoughts in my head, and the more undiluted they are by a lack of audience, the more convinced i am that this unfairness is justified. but it is a lacey kind of justification, one that i wouldnt dare say out loud in public.

remember when we took pictures at the lobby of the Davis? remember our little cold war at the noodle place you blogged about? how about that first morning when we woke up? that cab ride to the concert where i repeatedly said you were mean? then there was cheap coke and baskin robbins and sausages that you fed me. trouble finding each other at chatuchak. that coffee place next to the supermarket. that chocolate bread thing you bought that we kept snacking on. that night we fought and made up.

the music here is depressing. it’s one of those stare-at-ceiling soundtracks, songs for a sad stranger on a train. there will be no 3rd time.

8.02pm, Marmalade

27 comments May 16th, 2007