Sweat

Our meeting was a sweaty affair.

It was the sort of sweat that lingers like pheromones in the air, unperturbed by the AC's determined whirling. It was an indication of zeal so relentless, as if the only thing left in this world were the two bodies intertwined beneath. It was a declaration of pleasure, anguish and pain, as if all frustrations of the world could be mended with a firm grip, and released with a hard thrust.

It was an accidental masterpiece, a byproduct of rhythmic passion, a mid-tempo melody punctuated only by involuntary huff-puffs and almost-whiny sighs. It was the type of sweaty that breaks down walls and knocks over that box in your heart you labelled 'connection'.

It was the best kind of sweaty I've had in a while. And as soon as it began, it was over.

We were still sweaty, but the gentle warmth that signalled contentment turned into a calm of silence... the sort of silence that precedes awkward departures. Your eyes dimming, I watched as the fire slowly died. You followed with a goodbye that was harder than I anticipated.

I did not expect to feel this way. I did not expect to unlock the doors of intimacy. But the afterglow of sweat that trails in your wake have become a bitter reminder of that gateway slammed shut.

Our meeting was a sweaty affair, and I will remember to forget it.

I Don't Hate You

You are the trigger that reignites
an enmity of adoration and abhorrence
in the very fibres of my being.

I don't hate you, on the contrary;
it is easier to be angry
than to admit I am broken.

The state I am in is one of careless mend,
a whole made out of pieces,
a volatile kind of stable,
a looming sort of combustion
that threatens to explode at our every almost-touch.

I don't hate you, S.

The Hardest Part

I recently read an article which said that the hardest part of moving overseas was coming home. Reintegration to a society and life you've left behind. The life you vehemently tried to leave in your past so you could fit in to a new environment and do away with the homesickness... is now your present. You're back in semi-familiar grounds where nothing is the same: people have moved on, everything thinks differently, your family is finally used to the idea of you being away, etc.

It does suck.

But I guess I am whining from a position of privilege. So I shall stop.

Just bought myself a MBP. Man I hate paying for my own shit.

When does trying become trying too hard?

I’m stuck in a rut. I’m overthinking and just expecting the worse as usual. I confided in S and she agreed, I was overthinking and making it worse for myself. Things weren’t that bad. In the grand scheme of things, it’ll be one of those moments that we’ll be laughing at a couple of months from now. Everything’s fine.

I can’t help it. I don’t want to expect the worse but I am compelled to do so. I know I can’t change the end results even if I run through all possible scenarios in my head. I know running through them brings only harm and has no benefit. I know all this but I can’t seem to stop. It’s actually more of an effort to not think about it than run through the motions. I tell myself I want acceptance from within and that if it’s over it’s over but I can’t stop.

I start bracing myself for catastrophe and then telling myself to relax, you can’t prepare for every slightly-possible tragedy. But I can’t. I don’t want to tell myself ‘I told you so’ when it happens but that’s what I’m screaming at myself now. Internally I scream, that I never should’ve put myself in such a situation again, that I should’ve known better than to forget how much it could hurt, that this is a direct consequence of me breaking my own promise to myself to never let this happen again.

Then there’s the part of me who wants it to work. Who wants it to it’ll work out. Who allows me to believe that it just might work out. The part of me where a lone, smothered voice beckons me to remember all the positive words I’ve accumulated over the past few years, words that I’ve used to build this pedestal where even on my knees I’d be as tall as everyone else.

“If you never play the game because you’re afraid to lose then you will never in hell stand a chance of winning.”

And that’s where my contradictions begin.

 

Have you ever wondered what it'd feel like to not exist?