Surprise.Hope.Happiness

He surprised me.
if you are reading this, my wonder… you surprised me like a warmth of a match in the winter of my heart, a hearth that didn’t know fire, or the start of it, like now.

Where did that.. how did you. how? I wonder.. my wonderful surprise. I thank the winds that led you to me. That terrible man that insulted you but led you straight to me.

you surprised me with your warmth, your chuckle, your keen interest in who I  was. You surprised me with presents and wine. I didn’t know I was looking for you… I’m not sure you were looking for me either.  You charmed your way into another moment of time. With me, with you, this time chocolate and a crime.

that day I craved to know what a few more times with you might hold. A hope that things could… become so much more. that you could be bold, for me. A Hope you and I could be so much more than I could have imagined.

And that drunk hazy night, in your arms by fairy light, you took advantage of my weak senses and kissed your way to another crime. Lips I thought that would never know the happiness your lips hopped to across my cheek. You sealed my fate, and made my dreams come true, all at the same time.

Surprise.  Hope. Happiness. In two short months… you showed me all that and that the good lord is good on his word, and immortality is worth it with the right man.

What’s Left of You

I remember you. I remember the beauty in your eyes and your soul, I remember the smile, I remember your heart, I remember what I wanted to protect. I remember your big strong hands, your fair skin, marked by your clumsiness and pride. I remember your head it’s wiry curled crown. I remember all that you were and all that you could be. I also remember your good intentions and painfully, your innocence in all this.

I wish I could say it’s God’s fault for making you perfect. Just perfect for me. But He had other plans for you, plans that don’t involve me. Plans to prosper you and not to undo you with my love. My love for you consumed me, and threatened to consume you too, and everything about you. My love for you which is no more, except for the dregs that circle in my mind as the memories disappear of you and me, as one.

So I remember you now, but you don’t mean the same to me. You don’t feel the same to me. I remember you… but the love that kept you safe in my mind doesn’t protect you anymore, my forgotten love.

My heart forgot you, so my mind only knows what could’ve been all those times my hands slipped over exposed skin. My soul gave up on you, so it wants to corrupt you at any given chance now won. It must burn bridges you don’t even know, because if not, one day my mind will creep in and take what was never mine, just for fun. You didn’t understand the hope you inspired, the lust you fired up. Now the love that protected you is gone,  the monster unchained, but hopefully restrained. But not too quickly. Revenge sounds fun.

It doesn’t forgive as my heart does.. it doesn’t forget like my spirit does, it doesn’t forego as my soul does. My mind seeks vengeance for a heart that was broken. I know what it wants, but I’m not willing to give it. But sometimes it justifies well what might be worthy of damnation. Visions of what could be when my lips know yours for the first to the ten hundredth time. My hands free to know you with no pretense or barrier, with or without your permission. To take what was never consummated. To steal what was never meant to be mine, just because I can, just because I might. Reach out and grab it like eve did, take a bite my body craves, so that I can eat and I will surely forget it lies.

But i know better now. Wiser and stronger thanks to your necessary absence. But still tempted each time you lean in or reach for my hand on reflex, when your leg comfortably rests pasted to mine when seated side by side. I remember what they used to mean, but I remember it in passing, of what was, and what can never be.

Please let what’s left of you peacefully fade.

It ends

They keep asking me am I okay.. and I can’t lie, I am okay. But faber drive… faber drive is keeping me up late at night today.

am i the fool, am i a victim
I’d rather know,
you’d rather kiss her, good night, tonight, I’m blinded
i try, i tried
is this the way, is this the way, it ends

I hate how every song on my playlist spirals into thoughts of him, I hate how I can’t look at a single place in my room without some piece of him there; his pillow, his perfume, his shirt, his books, his toys. I hate how my saturday’s are just empty. I hate how we had such synchronized lives where every day feels empty, now that i don’t have him to share it with. I’m sure i packed away what he might need if he stayed over again, and sent packing with him whatever he shouldn’t keep here anymore. But how do I unburden my heart and my mind of all the thoughts and technicalities of logic I’d placed to keep him around.

So this is what your first heart ache with a real romance feels like. Like phantom pieces of glass stuck in your ribs from the inside.

I’d known from the start it was going to end, and then there were all the signs of how it was definitely not going to end well. And then it ended, and it didn’t end well as expected. I did what I did, and gone was the week I thought I had to savor the last of what we shared together. I had it revised. I never have conversations that were not even the least rehearsed in my mind. But there he was ready to burst into tears whenever I looked away, his heart……. just torn.

It was not supposed to end like this. I was not supposed to talk to him about something this precious stuck in a train ride from hell. There was wine to be had, there was dinner i’d planned on, i’d hold his arm, or let my fingers trace his perfect cuticles and look into those amber eyes and just….. tell him, tell him from the bottom of my heart, the truth finally… irrelevant of how he took it.

But lifes like that… life, the ruiner of mentally calculated plans that are yet to be articulated for optimal effect.

Now i was left with a version of him I’d never seen before, and a version of him that had to kiss her goodbye just to get me to safety. It was over before this trip began, because those lips can never touch mine now.. not like they ever could, but there was always hope until that kiss. Till our kiss… if it happened. Hope against all hope, now forever lost in oblivion.

I just wanted to hold him in my arms and tell him everything will be okay. I just wanted to hug him… let my fingers carefully soothe away the weight of being him, right now.. and who he really was, always. Tell him that i didn’t need absolutes or answers.. Just take my love, take my comfort and just..rest for awhile. Just know that everything will be okay, or I damn well would kill to give it to him.  Put a hand over his heart and just will it to be happy again, like he is with me most times… drunk, and happy. That I would give him a future, anything he’d wanted, just rest on me, and I’d take care of it, even if it meant i would have to bear the pain of leaving his side for an agonizing second. And all i wanted in return was to acknowledge my love. Not sex, not affection, not understanding, not pity, definitely not ignorance or what’s happening now. Not… nothing happend.

Not “He just needs some space. We just need a break..from each other”. I never thought Space could sound so ugly

I’d read about it before.. I could use the word in a sentence… but I never thought I’d come to emote what it truly meant to be in despair at the young age of 25. He just turned 20, a week ago. And here he was…….. caught in a maelstrom of his own emotions. I’d like to teach him that word.. make a silly joke about it only we’d understand, like how in the future we’d be joking about how I almost got arrested for taking the fight to his psycho-ex-girlfriend. Me the…. ‘friend’. The one that loved him in a way he’ll never understand. I’d like to be over him by then. I’d like loving him to be a distant memory, an embarrassing joke only close friends were allowed to make.

they warned me it would end. I knew it would end. Just didn’t think it would be this soon, and for this reason. And loosing him as it ends wouldn’t be this severe. Even though I understand it needs to be this brutal… he was just to exquisite to forget from real life without this great disappearing act.

I’m writing this, as it ends.. the last hopes and dreams and desires i have for him die and stop distracting me from moving on with my life.. without him. They say it take 21 days to develop any kind of habit.. I’m giving myself 42 just to be safe without him in my life, sparing my weak moments of socially acceptable conversation to dull the ache occasionally. And sadly, he makes me wonder whether he even understand what I’m feeling.. correction, what I felt for him. and what I was ready to do for him, with or without his approval, to give him a chance at happiness.

I’m in a sudden mood for movies that have tragic endings for unrequited lovers. I hope that with each day I see him, with each instance we’re forced to be in the same social situation it hurts less right in the middle of my chest, physically. And i hope to god it isn’t all the cigarettes i’ve suddenly doubled… My mother is definitely not going to to take heartbreak as an excuse.

I know falling out of love is painful and slow.. almost as tricky as falling in love was. i wonder if we can still be friends… i hear it doesn’t work like that at all. But i’d like to try… even as devastating as it feels seeing him fall for someone else might be. But time heals all wounds, even the ones we can’t get to the usual way.

Demisexuality and My Cliché

 

I knew he was trouble when he walked in, last year. I saw his cute doe eyed face and just knew that pudgy burgher boy was trouble. Even though he’s evened out now, become fitter now. Become a man now. A man that makes my leather jacket look even better when he wears it around. I like how my friends give him a knowing smile when they see him in my things, and I love how he smiles back, oblivious to the gesture; meticulous-and-prejudiced ‘me’ that doesn’t even let my niece touch my things gives him free reign with my wardrobe. I’ve ended friendships over people who tried on my accessories, leave alone giving him my favourite pair of socks. I’d buy him the world if he’d take it. I’d give him the last piece of bacon in the world. I’d steal chocolate from my mum for him. I’d give him the slippers off my feet, like I did just yesterday. Crazy things I’d never do. Why am I doing what I do? I ask myself too.

Something’s not right here, my friends think. And in a good way they think. And they know better than to address it until I bring it up. The celibate homoromantic demisexual now out and about is something worth celebrating for them.

At first it was the hi’s and the bye’s. The random friend request, the occasional like or comment, till he messaged. Then the hope the conversation carried onto real life. And it did. He was sweeter in real life, more adorable in person. I didn’t see how he stole a piece of my heart every time he bashfully initiated conversations, or carried them on, online and offline when he got to know me better. Then he’d lean on me, hang on me, surprise me with a hand around me, dig his nose in my neck from behind, whisper in my ear. I was hooked in a month. I was so done for with each trishaw ride we shared. Before I knew it, he was everywhere, with me, teaching me how boys do things, although he seemed to be a different kind of boy. A better boy; one that parents would love to point out to their respective offspring and say, “here, why can’t you be like him”, although that kinda falls through when they see him with me, Blue haired, skinny jeans wearing, cigarette smoking, dances with anybody me.

He was amusing. He made me dream again, be a kid again. Find the innocence I lost in my adolescence; he surely kept his in this cold dark place we called home. So we played well, and dreamed well. I dreamed and knew I’d be a king someday, so I promised him that he’d be my prince. I had other kingdoms to take over and add to my kingdom, he was supposed to rule over. He was the robin to my batman, but I really wanted him to be the batman to my superman. He was such a cliché, a king of clichéd behaviour and beliefs. The Derek to my Stiles, or the Stiles to my Derek, the holmes to my Watson, the Kirk to my Spock, the Mike to my Harvey. I don’t care anymore for the make believe, because he’s a part of my reality. He is the dog persona to my cat persona. The mint to my chocolate chip, the tie to my suit, the one other person who subconsciously reads passing signs out loud, the one other person who mixes up left and right in Sinhalese. The man I feel like I’ve waited for all my life. I don’t know where this is heading, but I like this. He can complete my sentences, and I can literally speak out loud what he’s thinking.

He’s stolen public property for me, because it’s made sense in his beer addled mind. I like how he messages me randomly, says he misses me, or makes plans to hang out. I like how he’s better at remembering things I’m supposed to, or can wake up at exactly the right time he needs to without me, and wakes me. I like it when he sleeps over, somewhere I can make sure he’s got the softest pillows, the best home-made dinner, and a blanket I tucked around his sides myself, and creepily watch over for a bit, and make sure his fallen leg gets back on the bed. I need him, and I like how he needs me in some ways.

I want him to be happy, I want him to know how beautiful he is, inside and out… and how his barely there stubble is the cutest, and how he can’t balance his sideburns for toffee. I like how he once just outright wanted a hug in public because he had a bad day. I like how he doesn’t think twice before shouting at me for missing a meal, and forcing me into a chair to forcibly nibble at something. I like how he’d let me have the last biscuit, I like how I can give him the last lollipop or cigarette. I like how he wouldn’t think twice about pulling my pants up for me, and I would for him. I like how I’d ask, and he’d just answer me with exactly what I ask him, without the lies or the bullshit. I like how he’ll not ask me anything I wouldn’t like to answer. I like that I can hug him, and he’d just melt away for a few seconds, and forget all the hurt and pain.

But I’m just a boy who loves him, and he’s just a boy who loves me; but not the same way. I’d look into his eyes, get lost in his smile, trim his beard in a way he’s yet to learn, and help him into my very own leather jacket and smooth it out, and roll the sleeves just right, and he’d only see a really good friend, not a romantic interest. A friend who taught him how to hit on girls, the right way to dance with them, and be confident and direct with them, a friend who will sneak him a drink at a party he’s definitely not supposed to be drinking or smoking.

I’d learnt that friendships and conversations with cute, sweet, funny boys don’t end well for my kind. Especially when they find out… I’m on the prowl for exactly that. But he took it astride, almost confidently. But I should’ve understood better he comes from this magical world where boys are friends with boys, any kind of boy, and boys dressed in a certain way, and girls were girls, girls were strange and beautiful, the outdoors were way more fun, and you walked everywhere. I should’ve known he was going to be trouble, but his inability to understand the situation, made it even easier to go where I went. But it gave me something magical.

A chance to be friends with a boy who never grew up prejudiced or concerned about what my sexuality, or sexual preference would imply. It was beautiful to bump shoulders, and let our relationship be tactile, organic, normal…if that was even possible. But then again, the opposite might have kept me from this predicament. When you’re demisexual, it’s all these things that do you in. You fall in love first, or you have to fall in love first before there is anything more. Sometimes I wonder if we were all like this once… but only few remember it, few want it, and there are those, who suffer through it.

But I believe the universe had a reason to bring him into my space, so against my better judgement, I want to love him. I want to love the cliché way we fit together, work together, live together, love together, even thought it might be other people. Because what is love, that you can’t give it away, unconditionally. One day, maybe he’ll be my cliché. One day we might part ways. And then, the universe will start this painful yet powerful cycle of love and friendship again with someone else, and hopefully it will end soon.

Amas Veritas

His shoe size will be 11.5″.

He’ll always ship ‘Sterek’ zealously.

He will use big English words even I’ve never heard of.

He will have warm eyes, and beautiful hands that always find their way towards mine.

His favorite Ice Cream flavor with be Vanilla pure, with nuts.

He will think in song, and dance instead of walk.

He will kiss me with kisses that make me forget to breathe.

He would always need to wear something red.

He will always pet stray animals, and never get attacked.

He will crave to fall asleep in my arms.

—————-

Young Sally Owens:

That’s the point. The guy I dreamed of doesn’t exist. And if he doesn’t exist, I’ll never die of a broken heart.

—————-

Private Romeo

MERCUTIO

You are a lover; borrow Cupid’s wings,
And soar with them above a common bound.

 ROMEO

I am too sore enpierced with his shaft
To soar with his light feathers, and so bound,
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe:
Under love’s heavy burden do I sink.

MERCUTIO

And, to sink in it, should you burden love;
Too great oppression for a tender thing.

ROMEO

Is love a tender thing? it is too rough,
Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.

——————————————————————————–

Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet, Act I – Scene IV.

———————————————————————————

It’s been a while since I’ve had a Friday to mull about doing nothing, It’s also been a while since I’ve read or heard Shakespearean prose. Who knew all would come together when I downloaded a copy of “Private Romeo” where I saw the timeless romance play out in a way more relatable and more real than i have ever imagined…. and what an ending!! 😀

To say the least, I loved the movie. Why wouldn’t I when they spoke only in brilliantly portrayed lines directly from the play. And the guy who played Mercutio & Juliet’s Father…. His acting was brilliant.  The movie to me was something so resilient and forbearing, now applied to real life, related in the world where the blockbuster rules and brilliant words and eloquent acting is lost on the wayside… forget the lovers, this movie is my hero.

Most people remember Romeo and Juliet for its undying romance, but for me Romeo and Juliet is a cautionary tale of love ,  and a remarkably good example on the catastrophe love can be.  I think we should count ourselves lucky that we live in a time where love between individuals is nobody else’s business, but Romeo and Juliet were of a time where it involved far more than the two of them. And when there are more than two people involved, there is hell breaking loose every time you blink for a kiss.

Don’t get me wrong, Love is a many splendored thing of course, but love is also a drug we are too mired in to see the effects it has on everything else in our world. Sometimes in love, we loosen other bonds and people but we don’t care because we’re too distracted. Sometimes in love, we also loose sight of responsibilities and things of importance for a momentary infatuation or flight of fancy. Love is truly a matter of the heart, an unbridled passion, but passion if not tempered would lead you down a fiery path.

But in the end, Love really does conquer all. Some sacrifices and losses were worth it in the end. Some shifts of responsibility and bonds all come to good. But is that really how it ends for everyone? Sometimes your own story tends to veer from the path of the fairy tale, but don’t loose courage, don’t loose hope. There might come an opportunity to write your own cautionary tale of love.

You are Pain

You are pain, a bitter sweet,
a silly gain,
to know you are here with me,
but never will be,
forever mine, or only for a time,
a fleeting glance,
a one sided romance,
you are pain,

you could be,
the dream that unites a thousand dreams,
but you are pain,
you will know my name,
but never say it like you are meant to,
because i can’t let you,
because i’m meant for something greater,
but for the moment, you are pain,

life says you will pass,
but you are pain,
an ache i hold dear,
a love i have made,
that you will never know,
because if you do, there might be more,
more pain,

you are pain,
like a sudden rain,
you came so fast, and you will end,
and i will never be the same,
yet you will go on,
a heavy cloud, never meant for me,
but rain nevertheless,
yet in vain.

To Have It All

Afraid to want,
and to have it all,
easy to believe,
so hard to loose it all,
to love, to live,
to breathe to heave,
to dream,
to walk a mile,
then look back and fall…

Life is For the Living

Since 2010, the world is abuzz with the rise in suicide by gay teens, one of them especially because he was outed to his peers in the most compromising of ways.  I’m not surprised, even I gotta admit I had flirted with the idea a couple of times when the bullying had been particularly bad, or if I had yet another religious discussion with my family. Hardly something I could avoid, I was meant to be in school and my family was fanatical in their religious beliefs. My only options were live as I was where I was, conform to the norm, or what? run away? live on my own?? Sri Lanka isn’t one of those places you can be independent as a teen.

I was never one of those people who did a good job at lying, I’m not one those people who suddenly discovered they were gay; I was gay from as early as my toddler days, it was boys always and I have absolutely no doubt about it! So then, how do you lie about something that is such a huge part of your psyche, and keep it up all soo well? I was failing miserably right throughout my attempts.

Sometimes life got tough or even unbearable and I would just reach this point and think, why do I have to go through this hurt? Why do I have to tolerate this pain and disappointment from the world around me? People keep saying it gets better, but it looks to me like it’s just getting worse and then there would be that thought; Why bother with all this, it could end in a matter of seconds, if only I could end it all.

I guess it’s just not the gay’s and lesbians that feel the need to consider Suicide, everyone has their own problems whether they are 6 or 62. Last year around January, when I started work at my new office, two of the guys were talking about how a friend of theirs had committed suicide. I didn’t even think twice to pay attention; people die, people always and most often die, it was just a fact of life I’ve grown accustom to, even if it was a young person. I had come to a place where life and death evoked an ignorant and indifferent reaction. It disgusted me when a weekend later, I found out this was someone I had known relatively well a few years back, but sync’ed out of interaction as social circles changed.

It was no big secret in Colombo my friend Ashan had committed suicide, i was just the dumb fuck that didn’t know it was him. In a strange twist of fate, I think i was one of the last few people to talk to him, albeit on facebook a day before he took his life. He’d commented on something i posted and I messaged him saying ‘hey, long time no see…’, we chatted random nonsense, about where we were in life at the moment, and that was that, conversation just went offline. I don’t even think we were friends in the true’st sense.. he was more of a comfortable and endearing acquaintance. He was a nice boy, someone his parents and friends could be proud of knowing… gone before we even knew what was going on..

No goodbye, no ‘hey, i’m going through something’, no way of seeing his beautiful face and that pretty smile that never carried to his eyes. Not knowing that something was wrong with one of the nicest boys I ever knew, although it was random and very brief our interactions. I used to drop Ashan home sometimes, I would run into him or he’d pop up in conversation because of the many mutual friends we shared. He was sweet, funny, entertaining and yet something was just not right. You’d see it in those awkward moments of silence, when you can’t ad-lib life. A brief flash of reality that let the real Ashan out of the bag. But i was not even a friend, i never bothered more than knowing it was there. But here i was, the acquaintance with a grave full of guilt and despair over a life that was lost too early because I didn’t know him well enough. It was a terrible feeling to have, this grief of knowing someone is alive one day, and dead a few days later. To be only left with memories of fleeting hello’s and stolen moments of interaction. What was worse was the guilt, of knowing i was one of the last people to talk to him, and wondering if i could have said something to change his mind. Well, I guess we’ll never know now…

I had heard Ashan has suffered some heavy losses even before he hit his teens, I even heard his living environment wasn’t the most ideal of situations. Recently I went to visit a friend who lived a few no’s down from him and Ashan’s seemed like a nice big house; I guess it wasn’t the home he needed. And finally I had heard the truth behind his tragic and too-early demise a few months ago, and I just loathed myself for not knowing him enough to hear it and tell him life goes on.

But coming back to me, Sure i flirted with the question as well, but the answer I chose was always a resounding No. I can’t explain the exact how’s and why’s but something in me never let myself be a victim of the darkness I felt around me. I had pockets of tiny light, little gifts of hope in my God and my faith in him (no matter what anyone told me), I had friends who were loving and supportive when I couldn’t get it from my family and I had me, when all else fades, I had me… my own light brighter than the rest. A spark in me that refused to settle, refused to die, refused to be dimmed. If all of life failed me, I knew I was worth depending and holding out on. If life was going to fight me for it, I was adamant that I would give it a fight worth remembering. And i’m so happy i did… Life does get better, it got shitty before it got better, but it did get better after all.

So Ashan, life is too long to let someone live without you. I hate knowing you won’t answer my facebook messages, and my phone calls. I barely knew you, but I liked the little i knew about you, and if i could make a judgement call based on what i know, you were an awesome dude, and I wished I had the chance to get to know you better.

For anyone and everyone who I’ve never personally known who is reading this… know that you matter to the people you least expect to make an impact on, and that life has its shitty moments that make you think suicide is actually an option to consider and equally or greater moments of epic happiness and good things. I gotto admit suicide seems like a good option sometimes, and it might seem like a damn good choice in certain cases, but if you can find the strength and the courage to say you’ll give one more day a try, five more minutes a chance, 10 more seconds to smile and have a little more faith in what your life holds for you, you’ll be happy you did. And chances are, you won’t be leaving behind people who were very sad you are gone. I for one, would be one of those people.. =)

So Tyler Clementi, and all the other suicides that have happened, so sad you had to go… but know that the It gets better project, and this post would never be around if it weren’t for your suicide; so something good did come of it, just wish it didn’t have to be at your expense. It’s sadness that you are not in this world, finding love, sexing the hell out of your other horny university college mates, but now someone else has that chance.

Rainy Days

 

Here I am, surrounded by the dull grey of the current weather, my sombre thoughts making me wish I could just crawl back to bed. I don’t know what it is about the rainy season but it makes me lovelorn and depressive. It makes me steel grey like the skies outside surrounded by cold loneliness, assaulted by precious silver tears as heavy as boulders that fall like the rain. I want it to to stop, but part of me likes it, makes me feel like I deserve it.

I wear two rings on my hand that finally felt like they belonged there. They’re both made of silver, one smooth and rounded and a perfect fit for my finger, one a bit larger and patterned. The smooth rounded one was a gift from someone I loved, a love that I still find hard to put away from my thoughts. I always thought that this love would put a ring on the very finger it rests on, not the one I wear now, alone.

I remember lying in his arms, talking  about finally seeing ourselves as one, one day wearing matching bands of precious metal. I told him that they had to be silver though. I always thought gold was a bit tacky, and that what we had was very different. He said okay. One day he’ll propose to me, he’ll give me a silver ring, and we’ll be together forever.

Those were from a happier time, where our love was just a matter of our own. Then things happened that made the matter something not of our own. We could have done things differently, stuck it out through the tough times, but I was made to choose between family, faith and love and for a kid, I was too young to know they were one in the same and that I chose wrong. We parted ways, never to see each other, never speak of what we had. But he was true to his word, he gave me a silver ring, a parting gift of sorts; a smooth and rounded ring, very simillar to a wedding band, cut with a cross that almost splits it in two. He was very thoughtful that way, giving me a bittersweet reminder of what my so called God did to us.

I kept the ring locked away for a few years too saddened to wear it, faced by the horrific reminder of my choices. I was ashamed of what I had done, and what that ring symbolized. Everytime my hand would come across it my little box of treasures, I’d sigh a sad sigh and slip it on for a few seconds wondering how things could’ve been different, how I could’ve been different, and everytime I did slip it on, I became a little different. Bit by bit, I became stronger, I became more confident, more assured and more determined to never have to make decisions I will regret, make decisions that will never hurt the ones I love, the ones I will love. The day I came out, I put the ring on and forever since then, it has been on my hand, a symbol of strength and love. And a little later on, I learnt that faith, family and love were the same thing, and what I once thought was a terrible symbol of what I lost became an affirmation of all the good I have gained.

Till last sunday, I would slip the ring on everytime I left the house, taking it off when I had some work that might damage or dirty it, or when I got back home. I wore the ring on my left ring finger, where it would be if I was still with him. People would joke or ask me why I had it and what it was, and I would tell them simply that it was a gift from my first love, and still is. It was my sunshine in a grey world, a reminder of the good times, the sunny smiles, the warm good things in my life, wishing that maybe one day, that it would be replaced by a real wedding band. But on sunday, I lost the ring. I remember it being on my finger, and with the whirl of activity that was my last sunday. I lost it. Gone. From memory and reality. I tried to find it for the past few days, but everytime I try and fail, it makes me feel worse.

I feel like the green lantern without his ring. Clichéd I know but simply put, it is what it is. The ring was what protected me from my own warring thoughts, my own self depreciation, the acid green envy when I met couples in love or childhood sweethearts. It was the secret ingredient to the elixir that was my happiness. And now, here I am, surrounded by weather far worse than my feelings of forlorn and greydom. And with Sad love songs.

Rainy days, rainy days,

now that you’ve gone far away,

my raindrops fallin’ down my eyes,

you know i’ll never be okay..

Thoughts fade away, fade away,

don’t you know i’m missing you,

here it slowly falls again,

every day and night,

as I open my eyes…