My heart breaks a little bit every time I think about the things we used to do here, and there. My here and your there. My there and your here.
(This means that my heart is now in little bitty pieces everywhere.)
The cold and dreary (and wildly life-threatening) hike during winter down to VP used to fill my tummy with warm bubbles of bliss. Now it's just a cold and dreary hike down to VP.
The love-shaped maple-drizzled pancakes, the honey chrysanthemum chicken, the accidental bah kwa (bacon + brown sugar + syrup + oven baked), the heart shaped stobeli muffins. Now the best I can muster is pasta with ready-made sauce from a bottle.
The motion-sickness from the 1 hour bus ride to meet you after work at Bugis made worse by smelly boys who always choose to sit next to me and fall asleep violently on my shoulder. Now I'm 41209098124 hours of travelling and $2000 and half a world away from you, and I would give anything to be back on that smelly bus.
4213, and 136B. Springside, and Paya Lebar. Now Ithaca, and Singapore.
I'm sad. Sometimes I hug Toby real tight and cry till my pillow gets soggy and wish really hard that I were home (but it's never worked). I hate being here and I just want to be where you are.
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Evelyn
I close my eyes and imagine the dark hills I would have to cross / to reach you. For I am in love with you / and this is what it is like or what it is like in words.
Carol Ann Duffy
When I grow up, I'd like to be a cream puff. A cream puff with apricots, or even a plain one. Lukewarm at the bakery. In the window.
Jeux d'enfants
No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.
Samuel Beckett