Inert

I am sad and melancholy; I don't want to be this way; it makes me worry.

I told you that I worry about cyber space; I worry about time and where I am at with it.

Am I at the beginning, middle or end of time? Is my journey with you nearing it's end? I do hope so.

Why did you meet me again? I did not want this to happen. We were so much better apart. You have your life and I had mine.

I was dormant, inert. I did not worry. Time was simply a number, not a waiting game.

Now I simply worry.

For a while I thought happiness would form part of my life. My body so carved yours; my mind became deluded. I had quite forgot that happiness was not part of my story.

I am resigned to my fate; time will finish and nothing will matter. I shall be safe again in my dormant, inert state.

All my love xx

November Girl

My November girl is a special kind of girl. She says what's in her heart; she does not think and decide. She is trusting, she is loving, she is innocent, she is a child.

I warned her against being vulnerable, I said that you are not ready or willing to understand; but she would not listen. She is wilfully; headstrong. She is trusting. She had been put away for so long, she just wanted to come out and play and say what's on her mind.

She pestered me and pestered me, the way children do so, against my better judgement, I let her out to play. She become happy, animated; she couldn't contain her excitement, just like a child. I was happy for her, my beautiful, my special child.

But then came December, and cold wind blow from all directions. My child was naked, so she froze, caught a chill and died.

I grieve for my November baby; melancholy is in my heart.

The moral of the story is don't be too trusting; you are liable to die.