I want love like the movies, simple and sweet
I want grand gestures, promises, surprises and gifts
I want a hero, a charmer, nice and complete
So I want love like the movies, I thought you would be it
But see, love in the movies last only so long
Two hours, that’s all, and life still goes on

(Source: catchmyfall.org)

Much like life and love, perhaps it is because I wanted so many books that ultimately, I bought none.

if there’s one thing, it’s words i’d love
words do not judge, nor laugh, nor care
they speak of my heart, when the brain knows not
of all the things i’d once been through
of the petty hurt and all my grief
so if there’s just one, it’s words, it’s her.

my insecurities are why you can never see me cry
you read me like a book but still you don’t know why
for all this i’m sorry for, but i can’t apologise
because that same damn property is crippling my mind.

[oppression flows from insecurity;i realise that i do
have abundant emotion, buti wish i had the ability to be
more endearing, and less indifferent.]

Sometimes I look around me and I see the whole world moving, the earth constantly in motion, never pausing to take a breather, never stopping to stick around.

And I feel left behind. Abandoned by everything else that’s persistently on the move, I’m scrambling through this never-ending battle to keep moving forward. I look at the modern landscape of sunny Singapore, and I see millions of people climbing the ladders to the dreams of a certain Mr. Lee. A global nation, they said.

But the ones that I don’t see, the ones hidden under the cryptic layers of the society, are the suffering effects of this rapid movement on the community as it becomes ungracious and unkind. See in the shadows there, that old hunched-back lady shuffling along, bumbling after the pretty, self-obsessed society with her stack of empty cardboard boxes, her money making career on her swelling back.

And that young coke-head of a boy with those dark sunken eyes and face sallow without colour, his fingers quivering around his hundredth cigarette stick, a reward for the days of past, and a telling of the days to come. They say that cigarettes kill you. He can only hope.

I am looking still, but I can only see darkness. It’s the end of an era, and some of us are still stuck, struggling to catch up with the imminent future. Change is scary.

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I would live all my life in nonchalance
Because I am terrified of what you would think
If you saw me stripped of this porcelain shell
I am a prisoner to my own indifference
But breaking free would be my cancer, my hell
Stay with me; I hope you’ll stay
It is only because I am scared
Look deeper; you will find
From behind the curtain
I’m dreaming in red
Help me, dear.

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(The sadness remains forever)
Yes, one day i’ll forget this too.
Look back in memory, myself a fool,
All the stupidity, oh woe! what a tool
The clowns, they weep, with painted smiles
The red, on white, but oh what joy,
From all the red, tainting all the white.

Your name on my phone, your texts and calls (Tiny little jolts it gave, the beginning of my fall)

The strange old musky scent, unique to your flat (Sanitizer? Detergent? Such a weird thing to miss)

Our lazy Sunday afternoons (The time we wasted, not wasted time)

Your hand in mine in the cinema (Now cold and alone, I hold my own)

When you hold my hand tight so I won’t tickle you (You’re not holding me now, but I won’t anymore)

When you demand for my hand across the table (I refused, I rejected, I would never again)

When you kiss any part of me that’s closest to you (So simple, so sweet, I loved it then)

Our arms and legs entwined in a comfy, entangled mess (Now no longer, oh what distress)

Your fingers laced with mine (They are not mine to hold anymore)