I am sorry that it is happening to you, now. I am sorry that you feel that life is cruel and insanely bias, but it happens to the very best of us. If not yesterday, it will be today or perhaps tomorrow. You just need a taste of it; if not once, every time.

I myself do not know where to look for the thin line, between knowing that you should fight for it or just let it be. I guess it is a judgment you have to call for and a decision you have to risk. And despite what happens after, you have to live it.

Can't you just cry it off and not ask the eternal question -- why?

You'll live. Believe me. (Not that you can do anything to me if you really do die pun).

Well, good luck.

i crack my head for senses
for which i could not find
i slam away the faces
which whom are never mine.

What would it be like to wake up in the morning and realizing that you are not there near me? What would it be like to go back home and there's no you on the couch watching boring TV shows, hogging the remote, flipping channel to channel excessively? What would it be like to not have you knock on my door every morning?

Whose clothes would you wear if you did not have time to wash yours? Who would you press to make you laugh the moments that you need a quick fix? Who would you eye if there's something funny that you just can't say out loud? 

My dear, my love, my heart.
You know we will never be apart.

Love you ja!

If you know me, then you would understand. You would understand why I would buffer (sikit je) of my real behaviour to the new people who come into my life. Of course kan, not everybody can understand crazy. However, that I do only because I feel that it is my duty to spare the aliens from feeling uncomfortable and having thoughts like, "Erm, why am I here talking to her again?", repeating in their minds while pretending to smile over cold coffee. 

Why do we do that? Hiding our true selves behind polite conversations? Or are the dramas and excitements should be reserved to those who would appreciate them only?

Maybe that's what close friends and families are for. They provide a safety net where you can walk the wire and jump the bridge without getting hurt. They know what you are good for. Hell, if they've seen you fall before, they will know when to catch you next.

Best kan. I feel so free if I can be myself at all times. Free like a bird. Flying around without care, knowing that people can see my underneath.

All in all, although I am almost against judging a book by its cover, I think it is just right to show them the kind-love-able person that you are first before revealing the crazy-and-disturbed-but-definitely-still-love-able side of you. Like my mum always say to me, "kalau tak nak ikut norm, pergi duduk dalam gua." 

Funny, I am yet to find that gua. Or maybe my home is my gua? I should write an entry on that alone. This gua thing. Got to ask my mum to elaborate. If I really do go and stay in a gua like she always say, do I only go there for cover but still go out to meet the community, or would I be cut off from civilization altogether? 

Ma?

And for the new friends that i suddenly have ni, don't be afraid. Well, at least not much. :) I don't bite, often

My left arm is bruised, marked by the pressure from your fingers.
You always leave me feeling used.

But I never see you.

I will never do.

Always a little bit crazy. Always living on the edge. Always a little bit crazy. Didn't I say that one already? I did. But that is the only thing that really stands out. Craziness oozes from her pores. And she acknowledges it, and feeds on it.

There was this one time when we were on a plane to Kota Kinabalu, she said she was having a panic attack. Waved her right hand in front of her face, with her palm downwards, and then searched for the puke bag. Then she breathed in and out from the bag, counting till 5 for each inhales and exhales. 

She was and still is, the biggest drama queen. Not in size. You know what I mean.

And once, she threatened to cut her wrist, if I don't stop going out with this one particular guy. She said he was trouble, and she only wanted the best for me. But she did not cut her wrist. Because I left the guy as she so desperately requested.

She was and still is, my closest friend. Not sexually though. You know what I mean.

Now, she lies quiet in the freezer. She and her little one. She asked me to freeze her. And revive her back in the future when her parents are dead. Then she will be able to raise her baby.

I can't wait for her parents to die. For I miss her so.

She was and still is, the only person I have ever loved. Except for myself, of course. Ahh, you know exactly what I mean.

We walk with our chests open, a knife on our right hands (left if we are left-handed), and a sign on our foreheads that say "Three tries for the most fatal puncture". On our backs, life sized orang utans will be hanging from our necks, a token for the winner. 

There will be only one winner for each of us and for every win, one of us dies.

Is death silent? Or noisy like when we sleep? Like when we shut ourselves from the real world, another dream buzzes, forcing our minds endless cycle of thoughts, conscious or not. 

Is death dark? As dark as no light? As dark as the hearts of evil that do not even bother to pretend? 

Where is death? 

Mine, yours and his.

Where is immortality?

Three. 

Tries.

throw thy kisses in the hallway
let them float above the stair
i thought you said it will always be gray
now i'm sure i'll be given the stare.