like an obsessive compulsive nutcase, i've tried to wipe my mental slate clean of you. i focused on japanese pranks on Youtube. tripping athletes. senseless advertisements. teenage books that i categorised as self-help instead of fan fiction. i tried to like what everybody else liked. watched Michael Bay flicks. found myself strangely amused by exploding Audis and people exchanging spit in the middle of alien invasions - with gun powder in their mouths. i went out with other people. by other, i mean, normal. i've practiced downing Smirnoffs again in lesser time and controlled my body's irritability to intoxicants. i bought DVDs. ordered shirts with custom prints. i was busy.
it wasnt a desperate attempt to get out of the ditch my luck has left me in. it doesnt feel like i live on a rubbish shoot. it was normal. like traffic. like long lines and crowded train stations. it's uncomfortable. it drags and bores the shit out of me. but still, it's not deathly horrible. like a ritual. eventless. uninteresting. but not bad enough to frown about. i can still smile and mean it.
it's just that, with each scene in my defective memory that i pick out and discard, a more vivid picture would resurface. then like second nature, my hand would flinch, my heart would convulse like it has been holding its breath under water for so long. for too long. like gasping for air, it would start looking for you.
guess there would be more mess to scrub off tomorrow.
Currently listening to: iron and wine - flightless bird american mouth
