*717 - where are you?

Met a childhood friend at the bar the other day. It's been seven years, but he still looks exactly the same. It's been seven years, and I (apparently) look completely different. Phew.

Snowball = advocaat + sprite.

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I have been oddly sober these days. (I mean that in the "cheerless" sense of the word, but now that I think about it, the other meaning is also rather appropriate.) Not that I have been perpetually depressed; I oscillate between general merriment and bouts of dreariness. I know one thing that would perk me up, but I'm afraid it's not happening.

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So in the end, the tables turned. I hope you don't feel the pain that I once did.

You didn't miss me till you lost me, did you?

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Strangers who aren't.

Unusual - conversation is not obligation; silence is not awkward. Dawn breaks where it shouldn't. Stars come and go but I cannot see them even if I squint. I cannot see you even if I squint. I cannot see me.

It is a terrible place to be, but I do not want to leave, because it is a lovely place to be. It gives me pain and it gives me hope. You give me pain and you give me hope. In any other circumstance, I may laugh with you. Ha ha ha, laugh with me, I am laughing ha ha ha, but I am also aching.

I wait without understanding why, what, when, who.

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Too many you's. As usual. Directed to the you's who would never know that someone out there just wrote something for them. My little unpolished strings of words, carefully boxed and wrapped and ribboned, stored in a part of my memory that you are unaware of. Where is the someone out there who has little unpolished strings of words, carefully boxed and wrapped and ribboned and stored, for me?