i placed you in the corner today, like a shirt which i love but no longer wish to wear, something only taken out in remembrance of breezy, hazy, lazy days. days which spell a lingering scent of perfume that never disintegrates.
my life as a placid calm pacific blue, my mind - elsewhere, wandering, wondering, wanderlust.
when can i be mine?
goodbye, the melancholic one, you were never mine. the other me belongs to merry-making, a seemingly downward spiral of life, a life of lust for life itself. a craze to drink from the fevour of life, amidst all the merry-making.
goodbye, life of mine.

the thin layer of oil floating above the red liquid always disgusted me, but i drank it anyway. some mornings i woke to see strong sunlight inching its way past the thin slit of glass between the pane and the dusty green curtains and watched speckles of dust do a jig in the empty space above me. i would watch the dust settle slowly and then twist my fingers around the ends of the green curtains and watch as more dust congregated for yet another dance. and while the sunlight seared burning bright images upon my eyes, i opened them till they hurt and i could do so no more. only then would i allow myself to inch towards the wine glass - toppling it down on many an occassion, due to the fact that it was little more than a bright grey triangle after all that sun-gazing - lapping up whatever was left in the glass. at times, i would just manage to slip a drop onto my tongue and i would slide my tongue along the roof of my mouth, savouring that little drop of bitterness before getting up to face a little of the day.
i clean my teeth but i do not bother to wash my face, the days hardly see me going anywhere. i run my fingers through my hair and give up before running them through the ends completely.
i often look into the fridge and see cartons of apple juice, bottles of ketchup and flour. eggs are a rarity. the other day i boiled eggs on a pan before deciding to add some flour into the paltry mess. i end up with a mess of runny eggs and flour pan-fried till it forms an almost brown crisp. what was intended roughly to be pancakes was just that. i dump ketchup and my eggs-flour mix into a bowl and use a fork to swirl the mix with the ketchup. taking a bite, it doesn't taste half bad. like a dried-up mixture of hash browns and rotten tomatoes.

***

that the night of would never end.
that the night could be dredged out at will, with every memory as clear and distinct as it had been the day after.
that drudgery would not erase what we had.