a month ago

a month ago i trimmed my hair at kimage, marina square, dropped by price breakers and bought a copy of elle magazine, which i haven't touched since i came back. back from?
snatches of the day i remember are wearing a blue top and thinking that i don't look very much different. 3/4 pants because i couldn't be bothered and because i thought my shoes alone would help me look less sloppy.
fast forward akin to using the tape recorder and watching the television images of your favourite show going in fast motion, lines blurring the images and people moving in unnaturally quick waves, mouths gaping open and closing as if they were goldfish and not humans and then we cease.
fast forward and we have all graduated as if we had just entered yesterday. no tears of joy, no nostalgic reminscences as if we wish yesterday was here once more, for routine blurs the beauty of an exceptional journey out. the last journey out.
and i'm never going back in a long time, no more rushing around, the combinations to the lockers may be forgotten, shelved in some forgotten corner of the mind unless implicature reminds me of a touch, a far-away touch and then memory reaches out to another memory as the leaves of different trees planted nearby one another interlock, touch, sway together in the wind on a bright blue day.
snatches.
i came back and packed, one bag inside another, too tired to sleep, mind moving too quickly it was impossible to think of sleep.
are you back from japan? and do you still read this?
the macdonalds with the lacquered floor that almost made me trip. the cheap cheeseburger that i finished quickly and the book entitled "my lover's lover". sitting alone in the lounge and seeing people alone like myself watch me warily and wonder along the very same line- why are we all alone?
an old man with little hair who falls asleep as the plane speeds along the runway. the empty seat between us that we both piled our newspapers and magazines in a strange mutual consent that was never verbal. reading the papers cover to cover. children behind.
along this meandering path of meaningless words, i find it hard to believe whether it has been a month or whether it has been only a month.