It’s a few minutes to midnight. I’ve been going through Tim Dowling’s writing for the best part of the night now. I’ve decided I like his writing style. He makes it look so easy and my life sounds so mundane and dull compared to his.
I’ve been shuffling my playlist looking for something to get me in the mood. I tried Chet Faker, that’s my go-to playlist when I want to be in the mood to write, then tried Tom Odell and am now listening to Saudade, which literally means Longing, as though I understand a word of Portuguese. The band pelts a great tune, the kind that allows you to get lost in the music and be nostalgic of a moment you are yet to live. The kind that makes you believe that life has a lot more to offer to you specifically. The kind that makes you wistful for things you don’t know.
And I am living a moment I have lived before, a moment I’m living and moments that are surreal to me. And I don’t want to leave this moment just yet.Am clinging to a memory that’s shattering me to pieces. Am hanging on to a pain that I needed to feel but numbed it before. Am walking a fine line between nostalgia and wanderlust.
.And I don’t want to leave this moment just yet. Am clinging to a memory that’s shattering me to pieces. Am hanging on to a pain that I needed to feel but numbed it before. Am walking a fine line between nostalgia and wanderlust.
I need to shrug off this dark cloud yet for some reason it’s comfortable walking these paths. Memory lane feels familiar. This boulevard of broken dreams is crowded but feels comfortable. There is a certain intimacy I have with my shattered dreams. The kind that is perverted yet puts a smile on your face. The kind of smile one gets from knowing that there’s nothing much to be done in some situations. The kind of smile a dying mother puts on for her child knowing fully well that she can’t do shit for them yet has to be strong to her last breathe because that’s what mothers do for their spawn, even the ungrateful and spiteful ones, they all deserve a mother’s love.
And you are a mean bastard when you are drunk. Hurling angry and hurtful words. And she is clinging to the baby. Because it’s the only beautiful thing that reminds her of you. And the baby is staring at her with scared eyes sucking it’s thumb. She is sobbing softly. Her tears falling on the baby’s face. He is screaming now. They are both driving you crazy. You bang the door loudly and drive off in rage.
Why doesn’t she get it? You lover her. You love them both dearly.
You don’t see the oncoming car. You are pounding your fists on the steering wheel cursing and mumbling under your breath. The blinding headlights jolt you out of your drunk stupor a bit too late and the only thing you think before the collision is that you don’t even know the color of her eyes after being together for 10 years. When was the last time you held her?