WYWH ♥

Two days in a row we've stumbled into one of the sheesha parlours in Arab Street. In total, we racked up about 7 hours of our life [in just two days] breathing in scented and flavoured smoke. The filthy cushions with holes branded into them, raggedy looking carpets with weird stains, constant requests for more charcoal... Somehow it feels (almost) like home. Blasting metal from our iPods, blowing O's (I'm halfway there! Congrats Sam) into the air and writing. The company matters too. Mervyn, Cheryl/ Jean, Ching May, Joel and friend. Nice.

I know Jean won't get to read this, but happy belated birthday! Still calling you Gin.

Am feeling the aftereffects of too much sheesha. Ugh, Ventolin will save the day. Need Ventolin!!!

*

Here I am, sitting in front of the bloody computer screen, mp3 plugged into my ears. My thoughts are in overdrive. I think, but I can't seem to put them into words... I am missing. I am missing old times, objects, people. I am lost. Confused. Insignificant, especially to the ones I truly care about.

Can we hit rewind?

Still as flawed, still as hopeless.
Waiting for a call/message that will never come through
*

Tomorrow might be better. Or next week.
Better not keep your hopes up.