When I’m in between
I feel a weightless breeze
cold upon my face as
shallow breaths escape.
Colors are a blur against
the blackness ahead.
You reach me still
even here
lingering –
a vague presence
while I am
slowly slipping away.

1:14 a.m.

This is mad. I can’t sleep. This is the first time I’m going to free write and I can’t get my spelling right. I still think about the several words ahead of me, words I’m about to write are a few seconds later than my thoughts – not very spontaneous. Nope. I even correct my grammatical and spelling errors, even the position of words and pauses between them. But nevertheless, less than what I normally do when I’m sober. Yes I am kind of drunk. Tipsy, you can say that. Whatever. Either way, whenever I get to drink a shot one too many I have the urge to blab about… a lot of things, literally anything under the sun. But particularly things I’m interested about. No, that happens anytime. Well, nothing in particular then, just anything that comes to mind. However, right now, I don’t have anyone to talk to. I have texted people I wanted to talk to, even those I do not want to talk to when I’m sober. But I’m not, so curse me. I have observed this phenomenon a few drinks before – that I tend to be really talkative when I get a bit drunk. (I don’t really know what defines ‘drunk.’ I only call my situation right now as tipsy. Call me defensive, but it’s true. I consider drunk when you’re falling on the floor and puking on unexpected places – not someone who still knows the difference between ‘your’ and ‘you’re.’ Yeah, I still know where to put my punctuations.)

One of the disadvantages of getting slightly drunk is that I call my ex. Yes, I call and bring up questions and discussions that I try too hard to bury out of my sight during normal times. But no, alcohol just gives me that courage to put down my defenses and let it all out. Today is kind of different because I didn’t call him, I just texted him because…. I don’t know. Maybe because I do not want to wake up my dad sleeping in the other room, or maybe because my impulses are getting weaker and I’m getting hold of them better than I did when the pain was fresher, newer. I don’t know if this is an improvement. Maybe the feeling’s just the same, only the method’s different, because I just cried while I was texting him. Yeah, crying while texting. How pathetic is that? Honestly, I really don’t know when I would get over him. I always say, to other people, that I’m fine and that I’ve moved on. But still I am here typing out these feelings of… what? Sadness? Regret?  I’m not sure. But I do know that I have – really, honestly – accepted that he had already left me. And I understand that there are reasons for things like these, for everything that happens. I do believe, trust, that we separated, at that time, for a reason, and that the reason is for the better. I’m not exactly sure for what, but I trust God enough to accept the things that happen to me and to believe that there will be a better tomorrow.  🙂