Before I fling myself in work, before I try to forget, before it warps into complicated folds beyond my, and indeed anyone else's, understanding.

I'll like to record it. In black sprawl on white, yet words fall beyond my reach even before I can touch them... I don't know where to start.


Perhaps I should apologize to you again, although apologies won't help anything, and after so much is an apology what you really want to hear?

I'll go behind my apology, and tell you then, its less the apologising, but more of the suffocating concern I can't shake myself off when I catch you. And when I don't.

I wish you well, I want you to be happy, I don't want to dash your hopes in the future; and I don't know what to do, when I want to be near but I see my prescence seems to bring you more pain than joy, seems to strip you of your smile

So I'll rather that you leave if it makes you feel better; I can't bear to see your back diminishing in the distance, can't bear to face your gaping abscence, but i don't expect you to stay.

I wonder sometimes if all this helps you, this trying to be alright around you, so you'll see reason not to dwell in the sadder part of this, so that you'll have some inkling of a reason to smile, too?

And perhaps on my part, to cope and cover a broken psyche, and forget, even just for a brief moment; like the desperate patching up of a disjointed head in a piteous attempt to ward off death

But in truth, in truth this pretentiousness is tiring, all the pseudo smiles and plastic joy and painfully mustered energy


I know this'll never reach you, and I can't bear to approach you when you need your space.. but maybe if I pretend in my mind that I'm able to tell you this it'll sooth this agony?

That I'm sorry that I've hurt you, that I didn't know things would turn out this way, that I seem alright not because I don't care, but rather I do, that I just wanted you to be happy and that was all.


And now, because this world doesn't wait for broken hearts, work it is.