of cubes.

The entire house is dark; if I wasn’t so indifferent I would be scared. Ive shut the lights in my room so everyone thinks im asleep, the atmosphere is off heavy incense and cold air that cuts through your clothes and makes your toes numb. Wiggle your left toes, wiggle your right, take a swig of water and exhale out a drag that you’ve held in for far too long .

He sits in a little pink car and races about town, getting to destinations, racing against deadlines and time constraints. I could never do it, that lack of freedom that inability to stop and see and feel and remember. Remembering is a funny thing, so many people, so many faces, if only you could rate memories you know- like your top five happiest moments and then conveniently forget all the other ones. Its useless floating around the past, because knowing me im still going to be gasping for breath and searching for someone to throw me one of those circular float things. Things change, people change, but memories, they tend to look the same no matter which way you turn them or if you put them in black or white or in slow motion. And things that you thought you had forgotten about long ago, or at least not remembered daily creep up on you when you least expect it.

My hair falls limp, my eye liners smudged, I look sad but im not really. I know I wont sleep well tonight, but not because of people calling me or because im merely too stressed to sleep, but just because you were remembered today. And remembering you is well- quite a lot for a little girl to handle sometimes.

She sings in the background, she sings like no one else can. And she asks for words, for explanations and for a cementation of feeling. Tell me, tell me, what is it that you want from me? Ive given what I had and Ive buried the rest, don’t ask me to sit and dig it all up, my hands will get scratched and my body will burn in the unrelenting heat.

Eyes meet with eyes, and sometimes emotion meets with emotion. But till then, theres just a girl and what she says and what she thinks on this black screen. The girl with the limp hair, and the head phones placed over her ears, the glasses that are smudged slightly on the left, the mug of green tea with yellow flowers. Its just me, and what we used to be.

And somewhere, in that darkness that swallows everything, every little thing that ever meant something and for those piercing things that still do, theres a place for her to just be.

And in her place, she smiles, shrugs her shoulders and moves on.

Its in the moments really, that you really see lifetimes of sentiment, of those said goodbye to and those that still exist between the moments of defiance , vulnerability and out right lies.

What was that line again?

Good times.. they don’t last long. They linger.