Forgettable

It was a day no different from any other. One that is entirely forgettable, yet time insists I go through the motions of breathing and sensory awareness. I've stopped wondering, it's tiring to process the thoughts that constantly run through my mind like rampant nudists over a patch of dying grass. My brain feels like that patch of grass.

I thought I'd take a long walk, to perhaps find a moment in time that I might not quite forget. It was a glimmer of hope that felt as bright as a glimmer in the puddle of mud left in the sun. Something that lasts forever, only in the span of a very finite time.

Walking along the sidewalk, I find myself making a very momentous decision. I thought I'd get a haircut. With the current intricacies and excitement of my life, a haircut is quite akin to sex for a virgin. Perhaps I could also buy some stuff, some toiletries, or just something. I thought that might be nice. Perhaps it might even be quite like foreplay to the previous analogy.

I finally reached an area where shops gathered to prey on wandering shoppers.

As I browsed through one (a shop, not a shopper), I made mental targets of toiletries available. They should last me quite a while, considering I've not found a reason to use them for some time. Very forgettable times.

Looking at the barber next door, I thought I should probably get the haircut first, but maybe I should walk a little more, at the very least, to the ATM for some extra cash. I remembered I had some, but I knew it would be quite some time before I bothered walking here again. And I'd rather have some cash left after paying for the haircut and stuff. So as I reached into my pocket, I headed towards the machine and made a discovery that would change my plans for the day, instantly.

I had forgotten to bring my wallet.

Fuck.

Something Good

A song written by a friend, sings my soul's cry.

You come back to your room

You switch on yellow night lights just beside the bed

You draw the curtains close

You lie down in your clothes and try to sleep instead

You put your hand across

You feel a cold where a good warmth used to lie beside

You lie down in the light

The short hand of the hour just has passed you by

You know there's something missing, from this place

A little something missing, you can't face

You know there's something dying, in this place

A little something crying, in this space

There's a trace

Of something good.

The sun peeks through the gap

You never got the rest that you needed for this day

You shower in a daze

You're wondering if this life has just faded to the gray

Broken pieces on the floor

You throw out with the rest of the life you had before

You walk out through the door

And glance back to the place that was home and so much more

You know you need to move on, from this place

You know you need to be gone, and replace

Of all the things you wanted, there's no space

To keep a piece of mind, of that face

Not a trace

Of something good

Of something good

- Hamdan Selamat

ú-chebin estel anim