And I find it kinda funny
I find it kinda sad
The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had
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. // prawninator | 08:35 + ~ Dear Richard,
It's funny, two years have gone by since I got wind from your cousin on Valentine's Day that you had passed away two weeks earlier. You would have been 41 this year. It makes me realize how frail life can be, how easily life can be given and taken away as quickly as the snap of someone's finger. Valentine's Day lost its color and radiance for me ever since that day, the day I found out. The flowers, heart-shaped candies, happy couples in the streets; I never looked at it the same way again, it all seems gray and monochrome to me now. All I had wished at that point was to be able to finally meet you, the one person then who understood me.
And now two years has passed.
My mother chided me one night, when I was pouring tears in the grief of your loss. She told me that a relationship forged online is never real. I nearly slapped her right across the face that night, but what was the point? One, she was my mother, and I have to show a degree of respect, however reluctant. Two, she didn't -- couldn't understand. I've tried explaining to her that just because it's a bunch of words exchanged over the Internet, it does not necessarily mean that the emotions behind those words are false.
As I lay in bed tonight, I felt something tugging at my heartstrings. I vaguely remembered your name, and as I stared up at the ceiling I remembered you. I never knew your face, but I knew your voice through the words you wrote to me. You were an English teacher, but you taught me a lot more than just grammar and vocabulary. You taught me how to pull through a crisis, you taught me to be strong and to believe in myself, at a time when everyone shunned me because I was "different".
However, after these years, your words to me have faded and I feel guilty that I cannot remember what you had told me. I treasured the last e-mail you had sent to me, but I cannot seem to recover it anymore. I wanted to see it again, and think to myself that you're not really gone, but still here, guiding me silently. Thinking about it for a while, however... I realize that you probably wouldn't have wanted me to do that. You would have wanted me to move on.
So I did, and I am. Slowly but surely I'm picking myself up again, trying to cheer up the side of me I have kept hidden from the people around me for so long. So this might be the last letter I will ever write to you. I know that one day, we will finally get to meet each other, but before that day comes, I will live my life to the fullest, because I can. I promise I will live just a little bit more on your behalf; I want to show you that I can be as strong as you had always known I'd be.
Until then, I'll miss you.
Love,
Your Likkul Bunny
. // prawninator | 17:38 + ~ No, seriously. I'm quite pissed.
*sighs*
So Aaron left a couple of weeks ago, I never really updated since then, eh? Sorry about that. Nothing much has happened, though. Everything is the same old, same old. Beside the fact that every day I spend here is one day closer to my return home, and I'm dreading that very much.
Attended another wedding on the 22nd. This time, Karl was standing in as one of the groomsman, and believe me; he looks AWESOME in a tux. The whole bridal party was quite fun, honestly. Jeremy, the Best Man, and Dave, the groom. We were just talking about games and games, amd more games. It was fun! We even had little bottles of bubbles to blow at the bride and groom.
However, right now, I'm getting very, VERY aggravated by our upstairs neighbours. All day long, day in, day out, until about three in the morning sometimes, they thump around the apartment, as though they were built 300lbs or more. It sounds like it. Or at least it sounds like they're always in a bad mood, stomping around all day. I mean, the floor isn't made of concrete, damn it. It's just wood!
And the porch. Oh. My. Gosh. They push rubbish through the slits between the wooden slats. Popsicle sticks, spent matches, cigarette butts, bottle-tops, potato chips. I don't smoke anymore (in fact, I haven't for the past week and a half), so Karl said it really doesn't matter. But that is NOT the point! The 2nd floor apartment porch is NOT a bloody trash can!
I want to give them a piece of my mind, but Karl tells me I gotta be nice about it. WHY?! He's not here most of the day to know what it's like to have the thumping going on and on and on the entire day! If they tell me that it could be OUR matches, I can refute them. No one in this apartment uses matches, only lighters.
Fuckers.
. // prawninator | 03:33 + ~
You might be living in my neighbourhood, or some other town or country far away. I don't know. And neither do you, at this point.
Wherever you are, I know I'll find you... if you don't find me first.
It's just a matter of time.
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