Sunday, October 26, 2014

Within the four corners of a square place with marble tiles, wooden ceiling and vintage warm light, water flow down my body, my hair, my face—indistinct from tears rolling from my eyes, I couldn’t really tell which were 100% made of water and 99% of feelings.

Being miles away does not really make me far from it all because I still brought it with me. And it’s inevitable not to leave such thing.

Every day, it gets more strange. Little by little, it gets more way-out. Slowly, it gets more peculiar. And eventually, it will all be terrible. It’s going to be the most heinous, appalling thing ever existed. I just can’t let that happen.

What’s worse than not knowing what to do is whichever thing I end up doing is going to hurt me; that’s for sure. Whether I stay or I leave, it’s going to have the same ending. I’m just not sure which plot twist is better than the other. It’s like committing a crime, but having to be sure which plan—a or b—works better that would probably alleviate the violation.

A few hours ago, I stared blankly at the cream curtains to my left while lying literally and figuratively down when it dawned on me how pathetic this all is. But then, I end up with the decision to run away. To skedaddle from all complications it has for everyone. It’s the most selfish choice I’d ever made, but it sure is for the best.

It drives me mad to make final decisions but fail to achieve them. So if to flee would be impossible to undertake, to keep distance would then be the least I could do. I just wish it wouldn’t be long enough until I can gradually make my exit.