Just a passing thought.

No analogies.

When I was really young, if I fell asleep on the sofa watching TV after dinner, Daddy would naturally carry me to my bed and I'd magically wake up in the comfor of my own room. At about the age of 10, Daddy would wake me up and walk me in at midnight. Now, I'll just be left there to wake up on my own and figure my way through the dark.

A blooming analogy, but not quite there yet.

12:06am

Your voice is cold, but yet it still warms my inside.

You say hello and I wish I would die this very moment. You ask why I've called and I stammer, and finally conclude that I don't really know. It's late, and you lament, your voice husky from sleep. I know it is; why I called? No idea, no bloody idea at all. A machine creaks, and the gears grown... Another jam?

12:10am. I still hear the click of the receiver, and your voice turns to ice. Goodnight.

Word jam.

It was 11:39pm when I opened up this page.

It's curently 11:46pm, and after staring at a blank screen for 7 minutes, I still can't think of what to type. There's so much I feel, but yet, nothing can be put into words. Like a paper shredder. 11:48pm now, oh wait, 11:49pm. Oh, my handphone and computer's clocks are working quite simultaneously.

11:50pm, paper jam. The shredder won't shred.

Passion.

It is your real passion.

I want to feel your weight pressing down on me, my hands firm around you. I want to feel your skin against mine, as I press my lips against your's. Let me warm your cold, dry lips. Let me hold you in my arms, as run my hands up and down your body, inwards and outwards, faster and faster. Let me feel your cold, metallic touch against my neck...

Let me play. Let me graduate.

Only words.

More than words to show you feel that your love for me is real...

A privilege I do not share with thousand other people out there. And the same chance I pray for each day. The ability to express one's love beyond words, but rather through expression and action, is something many take for granted. But only when that privilege and option is forcefully taken away, do you turn back and wish you had a chance more.

I love you.

The aftermath.

A great big load of mess.

It started with some travelling, a bus trip down to Serangoon Gardens, which involved some tapping and waiting and collecting and walking. This then took me down to Vivo, and that's when the craziness begun. There was ironing and crimping, pulling and tugging, tying and pinning, and the brushing and dabbing and shaving and drawing.

After the fuss, it was a cab down to Capitol Towers where there was more waiting, waiting, drinking, talking and then I headed to Grand Copthorne. After loads of snapping and shouting, eating and applauding, and laughing and talking, I headed home for more tugging and wiping and what not, to get back to my original self.

And as I pumped my nineth pump of conditioner and massaged the eighth pump of shampoo into my scalp, there were recollection of the night's events running through of various insincere comments, forceful comments, the polite comments and the rare and unexpected you-look-like-a-slut comments.

But at the end of it all, I realised, I didn't really have the want to look fantabulous. Neither was I looking forward to the many compliments. I wasn't looking forward to the food either, or to finally find out who'll be crowned prom queen of king. And, only after $335 dollars spent, I realised, I didn't really want to go to Prom.

All I wanted was you, to have you wait at my living room as I fussed with my hair. Which, of course, I didn't get.

Stop it.

You're so darn young.

It always has to be about you doesn't it? Your suffering, your pain. You didn't have a choice, fine, and so I apologised. Try living your life as a coward, try living through the self-hate, the guilt, the regret. You wouldn't understand any of that because you didn't have to queue up for the tickets under the hot sun.

That's why you just won't bloody understand a thing.