Since you've gone, I've been lost without a trace / I dream at night, I can only see your face. / I look around, but it's you I can't replace / I feel so cold, and I long for your embrace. / I keep crying baby, baby please.

What’s the matter with me?

Is it my imagination? Is it the pasta I had for dinner?

Or is what I’m feeling real?

Last night, I wasn’t able to fall asleep. I kept imagining you in the throes of passion. With someone else.

And why shouldn’t you? You’re so young. So beautiful. So desirable. Why can’t I express my desire?

Now you’re no longer thinking of me. No longer my girl. At least not last night. I have failed you.

I thought I was over… jealousy.

Yet, we seem(ed) to be entangled—somehow. You send a message when I think of you. I’ll wake up when you read mine.

Something is missing though. It’s not you, it’s me. I have failed your test(s).

I may never be ready when someone I genuinely like walks into my life. Lands on my hand. Like a butterfly.

Last night was rare. I can feel that you aren’t thinking of me.

Perhaps you are not my girl. Perhaps I failed to give you what you needed when you needed it…

Stop it.

Yes, love is fleeting. Yes, I adore her. Yes, there will be others. There are always other girls.

Ohh. If only we could have the pleasure… without the pain.

What i'm listening to:

Every Breath You Take
The Police
Synchronicity

We’re almost there, yet picture it…

You awaken, on today, the most wretched holiday of the year. Every clock is correct. It fixed itself. The car. The microwave. The stove. The designer clock over the kitchen sink.

All of them.

If that were the case, is it possible you wouldn’t even notice that everything is an hour earlier?

Hmmm.

Of course, right now, I am not a slave to my pocket watch. Joy of an obligation free life, I suppose.

Maybe, today will be my easiest transition yet.

I wonder…

Last week, I met someone (who bears a remarkable resemblence to Tom Brady) who shared his views on how we are slaves to clocks. To time.

And what is time anyway? A way to control us. Make sure we’re accounted for at certain times.

Perhaps he’s not wrong. It’s not just a way for so many people to successfully meet, hang out, hook up, have fun.

After all, we can’t spend every waking moment with someone we adore… can we?