august blues

August 23, 2012

january blues.

spring pulled us apart for a while. it was mainly my doing but you didn’t seem to mind, either. it is sad – that I had to lose you first in order to realize that tu me manques. I spent three months in the hills, loving blue mornings with a completely wrong person. at the time, I thought I was content and happy.
I will never have the courage to tell you. there’s nothing to tell, really.
our story is being written and it is far from over.
I don’t know what next chapters will be about but I’m glad that the last one has come to an end.
I need to be more careful. but I also need to trust more.
I am not sure how I am ever going to achieve that but knowing that you are here with me kind of makes me ease up.
I am not expecting any more than I deserve. which is the most honest measure there is.
a year ago, when I first met you, I had no idea. any more than I do now.
but the balance, which we have managed to create in the last few weeks, I needed it and I guess that’s all that matters.
I hope autumn will be good to us. just imagine it: scarves, hot mugs of pumpkin-orange flavored coffee and walks along the harbor front as the red, winter sun disappears.
I make fun of you for being a romantic, but in reality, it’s me.
don’t disappear, please.

seven six one

August 22, 2012

a bunch of incoherent words and sentences:

mid-august; not as bad as I thought it would be. not as bad as some. it doesn’t matter. early mornings; my body wakes up with the sunrise. but sometimes we stay outside the whole night. the british boy was here and then left. I’d barely seen him. there were some good moments. I’m awaiting for summer’s end. in may I thought it was going to be a memorable summer. and indeed it has been, but in a completely different light. I still wake up in the middle of the night, because the uneasy feeling never really leaves. hong kong wears me out. I don’t have time to write or to read. my camera collects dust instead of memories. I’m weary and bored.

two mornings; completely different. night and day; just like the two of us. one evening when it rained heavily and the typhoon was on its way, he made dinner. I welcomed the darkness of a fresh night with nothing but a glass of cold water. I fell sick that night. we took turns in feeding each other spoons of banana ice cream, laughing. you are like the little one, he tells me. he hugs me and I can never leave when I am supposed to. I’m always late but it is always worth it. roadside bar. it is slowly becoming our place. zaz; the live album. a glass of merlot and his brown eyes before me. I never truly understood how much I can hurt him until the other night. not that I want to hurt him. it’s just that never before had I realized how vulnerable he actually is. it was an eye-opening realization.

I have been feeling sick and weak the past few weeks, constantly. uninspired; unable to write. secretly I was hoping the words would align somehow, just like that. I’m still waiting for the urge. it’s hard work and I’m nowhere near my full potential. nowhere near. vivid images appear out of nowhere. hong kong at night, hong kong in the morning. coffees, yogurt with granola and blueberries for breakfast, fresh strawberries. sunny days, rain, typhoons and quiet. reading the google news and reader, trying to find something to hang onto. studying french verbs, memorizing the rules and plurals. but I still learn the most from him. his soft pronunciation and glowing eyes as he looks at me. I still get nervous; just before I go to meet him, I still get nervous a little bit. when I see his name on the caller id, I feel a rush. even after so many months.

we dream together, but mostly it’s just him. he dreams for both of us because he knows I am afraid. don’t be scared, he says. don’t be scared. it’s so easy to say. I’m thinking of an island, somewhere in the atlantic. palm trees, the sound of waves and colorful dresses. like in one of those music videos he sends me. it is such a contrast to our nights spent in dark neighborhoods of hong kong, which constantly glow in red neon light. sometimes I despise the neon, but it is everywhere.

an image from a few weeks ago: kowloon city and those three palms by the bus terminal. early morning, yellow buildings and blue sky. I dragged myself across the road, wishing I could go home. salty tears dried on my face, making my eyes look sleepy. he fell asleep on my chest as the bus stood motionlessly in a traffic jam. sunshine turned my hair into gold. a mother and an infant sat across from me; I felt sick. last september seems so far away and the one of tomorrow will be nothing like it. I am not sure how much longer.

sometimes I hate those endless, sleepless nights. sometimes they are the only thing that makes sense in this mess.