I remember you.

I love the silence of the night, the mysteries that are hidden in the darkness, and the beauty of being at peace with myself. At night, there is no need to hide behind a front, no need for half-hearted replies and painful smiles. It is just my mac and I, alone in the dark and contented.

Three years on and I have yet to regain my trust in people and things. I drift from one group to the next with just a few fixed regularities and perhaps it is for the best. Some things are best hidden from closed minds. It’s been rather mellow since I started closing myself off from nearly everyone else. Crazy late nights once spent complaining about how much I hated home are now spent in the very place I despised, admiring pretty boys or flopping around doing nothing at all. I decided awhile ago that I like the new, and home became my favourite place. Maybe, once you start learning to love yourself and your family, you learn to trust.

My best friend’s birthday is in five days. I still wince when I think of the disaster of a present I gave him two (I think) birthdays ago that was filled with my insecurities and idiosyncrasies. Beautiful boys do not deserve a sorry angst-filled excuse of a present. But that’s okay, I’ll make it up with a good meal this year. Planning the menu is a bitch though considering how low in cash I am at the moment. But it’s okay, I’ll figure something out. The boy deserves something good.

But even so, every now and then I would feel a violent stab of loneliness. The very water I drink, the very air I breathed, would feel like long, sharp needles. The pages of a book in my hands would take on the threatening metallic gleam of razor blades. I could hear the roots of loneliness creeping through me when the world was hushed at 4 o’clock in the morning.

The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle – Murakami

Keep safe.