Tuesday, May 02, 2006

cheap thrills

An act upon impulse is, normally, greeted with anything but cordiality. I've had my fair share of getting into profound deep shit by performing mindless acts before thinking. If I could choose again, I would've slapped myself before I dirtied the handkerchief that would've been otherwise untarnished. Now it's full of smudges and stains that I'm almost compelled to suffocate myself with it. The guilt haunted me in my dreams even! Sure, it was tantalizing and all that crapload full of rubbish, but having a highly disturbed conscience does little good for ideal sleeping methods. Such was me, and such were the memories. It's all in a big black box marked with a red cross [sadly no treasures] buried deep in my head, binded with chains and locks to which I lost the keys to.

Hopefully one day the termites will come and eat it all away so my sanity and sagacity shall be restored whole once again.

But what are they chances, eyy?

To my dear friend, I hope you come to terms with what happened. I don't know what to say, I don't know what to tell you. Partly because I know what it feels to regret and wishing you could turn back time, with the question 'What the hell got into me?' on an irritatingly chronic linger at the back of your mind. I'm as troubled as you are over what happened [I swear I almost cried when you did]; I even said a little prayer for you today. But everything happens for a reason, and time heals all wounds.

So it'll be okay. It has to be. (:



And you silly CLB, if I could choose all over again I'd still choose you!

remained aloft at 10:09 PM