Current song playing : How Could An Angel Break My Heart by Toni Braxton
I wonder if she makes him smile
The way he used to smile at me
I hope she doesn’t make him laugh
Because his laugh belongs to me

Last night, you pulled me as I pranced to you. We made sweet sweet love. You lit the candle and kiss me like never before. I surprised you with my bad kitty costume, for a moment, I could almost felt your arousal.You placed your hands on my back, grabbing my fleshy bum. The dim candle flame lights up the room perfectly, perfecting the climax I desired. Keren Ann’s voice drowning in the background. I was making love to you. It wasn’t another episode of lustful sex, it was two person forgetting about the world’s hopes and hatred, gazing into his eyes and giving him the pleasure of his life.

Lucid dream.

I slept and dreamed. I dream of you and me, that past weeks we’ve been spending time together till I woke up and realised, who am I kidding now. You woke me up, you broke and shattered me into pieces. I was torn, I still am. Days ago, we shared moments I stole from the stars. It was just days ago, you light up my face when I see your name appeared. This morning, you killed my dream. Our kisses in the elevator, your kisses linger on my shoulder, our sneaky fingers under the table.

Like White Boy suggested, I should start counting my fingers in real life.

Last night, I went to bed with a smile. Today, Sunday, I had the perfect picture. My face is still carved with that smirky smile.

My dreamy Sunday started with my pretty floral dress paired with a good dosage of sunshine. Sunday drive to men’s turf. Dirt, sweat and balls. That quick 5 minutes in the field was exhilarating, watching the boys wrestling on the mud with their trusted weapons. I giggled at their silly stunts. The big love mark on White Boy’s neck by his first love cannot be missed, pretty and painful in a glance.

Broken-hearted Fashionista brought a surprise, our hidden treasure, Angel. Brunch in a familiar place. Tables were set up, menus opened, orders are made. Guinness Stout in my grasp. Sunday brunch with these girls satisfy my inner soul. For once in my life, I found bliss in these girls. They never judge, conversations are au natural and unhidden, no agenda setting. Rockstar wife-wannabe, Bipolar Fashionista, Ever-so-Innocent Angel, Hermit Card receiver, She-who-Popped-my-beauty-virginity – these are my friends, multiple identities. Together we laughed about sex, sex and more sex. Today, we made a plan. A precise plan that involves orgy, banana boats, marijuana pancakes, excessive consumption of alcohol.

Because it’s the 31st of January, we indulged on a pint of ice cream. We pampered our sweet sweet soul.

Rainy Sunday afternoon continued with jumping on a new bed, new air and the beginning of a life-long affair. Pretty white walls, see-through bathroom and oversized T-shirt. Reminiscing the good moments, splendid way to end the tormented January. Thirty minutes of power nap with blending of children playing in the pool and rooster cocking, I have no complaints. I fell into deep sleep within seconds on this bed. Security blanket.

A long drive home, unexpected moves, meaningful conversations. I came home feeling good.

There was a blank to my perfect dreamy Sunday. The presence of you. You that make me smile silly.

A surprise call came in, she promised to end my Sunday with a blow. Impulsively he and she purchased Zoltan, the albino frog and Spice, the new company for Sugar. It’s interesting how living things could make a successful man gloat. I ended my dreamy Sunday night devouring Guinness Stout, mint shisha, sauteed mushrooms and playing Big Two with new found friends.

This is my dreamy Sunday.

Current song playing : Officially Missing You by Tamia
Ooh, can’t nobody do it like you
Said every little thing you do
Hey baby say it stays on my mind
And I, I’m officially..

Sundays prance my heart.

We might kiss when we are alone, when nobody’s watching.

I fought with myself. My feelings and my brain just refused to make up. 7 and 1/2 pints of Stout on a Sunday afternoon with StarWars Bon. A casual two person drinking on a Sunday afternoon turned to a party of 20. A drunk dial, my heart running back to him. Another drunk dial, “I miss you”, he said. Probably I should start drunk dialing too. I will call you and tell you how much damage you’ve caused.

Last night ended with a kiss, two drunk dials.

Current song playing : This One (Crying like a Child) by Utada Hikaru
How could I ever love another?
How could you don’t remember?
God knows I’d give anything
For just one more night together

Today is Sunday.

This day is my therapy. Plans were made.
I woke up and smiled, perhaps it is going to be a good day.

Watched a movie titled “Wild Child”, story of a young girl adapting to a new environment. For some silly reasons unknown, I cried throughout the whole movie. It made no sense at all. After spending my nights thinking of him, I needed to channel my emotions somewhere. But crying over this movie seems ridiculous, almost stupid. Crying. I’ve learned to cry the past few months. I turned on my playlist and cry over songs, cry over stupid love songs. It’s funny no matter how much of crying is done, the feelings never ceased, it is still there, perhaps temporary forgotten. It will come back in seconds, moments you never want your shield to be broken. I broke my shield, I broke my wall.

Coming back to comfort home, I thought day would be splendid. The face I saw wasn’t a happy one. The tone of his voice was merely disappointing. I kept quiet. No input would make him any happier. Why do Sunday looked so dark and angry? Angry words, mad tones. Phones beeping back and forth, I could sense the awkwardness. Should I walk off? Am I intruding? Should they fight, where should I stand?

Love is complex. Space, time, emotions. I’m walking away.

My first weekend in 2010 seems almost awry.

I felt so good for a moment until Saturday dinner came along. A place so familiar, almost fated. Sipping on the hot noodle soup, I was seeking for my salvage on that white bowl. Halfway through the bowl, a new stranger mentioned a place, a place I hear so often lately, a place where this affair should never have begun. The image of him whisked by for a split second, chopsticks fell off my fingers, my heart stopped for five seconds. She thinks I am in denial, fooling my own mind. I recognised that heartbeat, that smile, that eager – it’s infatuation. Soon the table conversation was about sex, emotional cheating, being committed, multiple partners. We wonder all the time. How that feels? The curiosity eats me up, shakes me at times. Was I that girl? The girl that says it is okay to cheat physically as long as no emotions are involved or the girl that cannot handles infidelity in the relationship? To commit sounds strange to me at that moment.

Later that night, looking at these strangers, pumping electros, vibrating floors, empty beers glasses, coke cans, I was searching for drugs. Drug that would get me so high that I would not remember him. I saw dilated pupils, blurry visions of these stoners. Bassment Jaxx was a let down, I was wishing for that high. The high that I get when I dance. I lost it. One of the tracks they played – In For The Kill by La Roux, held me back. For a second I thought, I was never in love, it was just the thrill. The thrill to do the impossible.

Coming back home, I turned to my trusted source, my love stories. I wept, I missed him and I would never tell him. The love stories was almost impeccable, broken hearts and falling in love. I started fantasizing about coming back to this place, how me and him would laugh, giggle and cuddle again. I went to bed with tears. Tears that break my heart, smudge the black kohl eyeliner on the edge of my eyelids. Tears that allow me to fall in love, break my frail heart, laugh, cry and do it over and over again in the name of love. At 6.48am, I had a revelation. I will fall in love again and that heart-wrenching process no matter how much it hurts.

Gloomy Sunday morning, I woke up with a happy note but my heart was still heavy from the tears. I knew deep down it’s not going to be a good day. I didn’t want to stay home alone, I wanted to run to his arms, laugh and smell him. I wore a pretty floral top with a hot white shorts flaunting my buttocks, my lanky legs and my femininity. I wanted to look pretty today. I was excited, mostly thrilled. Stepped into the comfort home realizing that two girls were in pretty floral tops. It was never me to wear something that pretty, that sweet. Probably 2010 inspires me to add some new fashion flavours. Three person giggling stupidly, it was a bliss at home.

Driving to Bijou reminds me of autumn, heavy wind blowing the dried leaves to the ground, trees along the driveway gazing at your loneliness. Raindrops on Sunday afternoon filled with fat chips, fish fingers, buffalo wings, chamomile tea and milkshake. We started conversing about sex, father figures, penis-envy, dreams, afterlife, previous life, then, existence came along. What if I wake up one day with no one? Empty streets, empty rooms. Would I be everything or would I be nothing? Speaking of how I never see myself living past 30 years old, reasons why I want to marry and have kids young. Never I had plans to live until I am 50, I knew I would be gone long before that. Don’t ask me why, I just know that deep down.

Grocery shopping for dinner always make me jumpy. Back to the comfort home, two girls spent an hour in the kitchen cooking for a man. PREGO sauce, Ramli beef patty make up the man’s first home-cooked meal. I remembered I promised to cook pasta for a man I used to fancy. These gestures keep my heart beating, home-cooked meals melt my heart easily. After the reluctant dinner, we laughed at our silly dinner. The night continues with a movie tittled ‘9′, unexplained characters with sci-fi machines which I failed to comprehend. Minutes after the movie, a phone call I made damaged my trust. I will never want to feel that stupid. I deserve better. That’s what I say every single time. I never learn.

Tonight’s drive home was long and hard. No words shared. Speaking seems such a waste. Tonight, the love songs played in the radio sounds foolish. I will sleep tonight and wake up to see the sun again. Maybe tomorrow, maybe not. I will learn. I will cope. Wait and see.