Simply amazing

Maybe humanity isn't that bad after all.

Read more about Matt and how he danced around the world here.

The sea within

When in the past, we'll argue about the possibility of The One; the mythical embodiment of happiness whom we're somehow destined to meet, you've recently convinced me that our love together was a matter of timely convenience.

It's as if Fate asked me for my number at a club and didn't call after that. Maybe it got distracted somewhere and didn't get through to calling somehow, but that didn't stop me from hoping on those empty nights for the fortuitous encounter, to breath in the anticipation of a life I've dreamed, a person I've always wanted to be with. Which is why I'd hate to think that all we worked for so far meant nothing against the test of time. Even if The One wasn't a person, wasn't you, it could at least be the process of learning and loving you through the ages. To think that I was so optimistic then.

Yet people only accept the love they think they deserve.

Read both ways, I guess I'm no longer good enough for you anymore at this point in your life, my once cherished idealism now a tiring stain on your desire for stability. I am also not worthy of the affection that's been laid upon me by others, because I'm at my most self-destructive state now.

I used to foolishly think that some things will always remain the same; your priorities, how we loved, my hopes, how you saw the both of us. The fact is - people change; they grow out of their earlier selves, their nestled troubles digging deeper, and yet they're also more at ease and adept at managing their inadequacies without being apologetic.

So you were wrong when you thought I could never change for our sake, because I'm a different person now in the time we've been apart. I may be stronger, but these grey days have also made me bitter, because my pride wouldn't allow me to think you'd be that selfish to throw everything away, just like that.

I know I haven't been communicating with you as much as I want to, because firstly, I still cannot stop crying when I'm reminded about us. I've been trying very hard to stop it so that I can hang out with you as my casual normal self. And secondly, I don't want to give you false hopes and say/do anything misleading because I don't even know what I want now. Sometimes I have this sinking feeling I'm dragging you and him into a big shit hole with me, and I think maybe I should disappear to stop all this madness. I just don't know what to do until I somehow come up with an answer. I know this SMS is very unconstructive but it's really how I'm feeling.

Your words don't cut me anymore.

I hope he's worth every tear you've shed for the ocean you've put between us.

漂着

你送给我的信
大部份我都看不懂
你牵着我的手
我已经麻痹没感觉
就这么漂着
漂着的我

听着你的声音
冰箱里过期的啤酒
回答你的问题
唱着歌你都不想听
就这么唱着
唱着的我

你穿过的大衣
磨擦热了我的身体
你下了一场雨
冲掉我说谎的能力
就这么望着
望着天空的云

你送给我的信
大部份我都看不懂
你牵着我的手
我已经麻痹没感觉
就这么爱着
爱着善变的你

Changing room confessions

Two entwined bodies moved in silence, a slow ambling dance of desire behind closed doors.

Just moments earlier, she asks for your sartorial opinion, doing a little pirouette and a curtsy as she tiptoes out without her shoes.

"White. Because I know you like your women chaste yet vivacious. How?"

You smile because she know she's right; the "how?" was more of an invitation to affirm what was already out in the open than posed as a mere question. But you can't help but also admire how the linen dress hugs her frame, accentuating those unseen curves from an otherwise waif body. It's surprising how a well made piece of garment can bring out details you'd never pick up from your sweeping glances of women.

"You look great!" You knew you had to agree here or fall out of step.

Yet at the back of your mind, you're suspicious of this woman who is confident with men, almost too confident, because underneath that self assured countenance you spy a certain insecurity her body language could never fully conceal. Like a cough that becomes more obvious with every attempt to hide it, her inadequacies rise to the top with every over dignified statement and in every step of her gait.

Sensing that her performance for the evening has been somewhat undermined, she pulls a fast one on you, checking down the aisle just to be sure no one is around before pulling you quickly into the changing room. On the way in, she trips over her heels as she steps backwards and both of you stumble onto the mirror, your body now pressed against hers with a soft thud.

The air-conditioning is relentless inside and you can tell immediately by the goose pimples that's flaring up on her hot bare skin. She pulls you closer and presses her chest against your stomach, the glossy lips parting a little as her breathing gets heavier. With a tap of her outstretched leg, the only exit of this small space is now softly shut.

You hesitate for a moment and watch your breath condense on the mirror pane. The reflection seemed vague and unfamiliar; an austere version of yourself now stares right back with the pair of hungry eyes of a bewildered stranger.

She knows you're resisting.

She has read and undone the thin thread of inhibition within men so often, and you're just another digit in her long lists of conquests, another name to call up from her little black book of numbers. Desire, it seems, was her weapon of choice. Not allowing for the prospect of defeat, she guides your hand to the hem of her dress, making sure your fingers come into contact with her bare softness as it slowly rides up to her hips. Almost instinctively, you press your thigh deep into her as she takes a deep breath in, her neck arching back in heated anticipation.

With perfect timing, your phone in the front pocket stirs from its slumber, sending vibrations coursing through the thigh that's pressed against her, and an embarrassing ring tone trumpets down the quiet hallway. Her body responds in delicate tingles.

You pull yourself slowly away from her, as both of you chuckle awkwardly at the Pipettes' lyrics on wasted kisses. She passes a brief glance at you as she turns around to recompose herself in the mirror, straightening her dress and combing through her tresses with her fingers. You check your phone sheepishly; it's the office. What an anticlimax.

"We didn't have to stop you know," her voice took on a subdued, velvety quality, "I was actually enjoying... myself."

This was when you realized you were already caught in her web of seduction, and there was no escaping it.

When a woman wants a man and lusts after him, the lover need not bother to conjure up opportunities, for she will find more in an hour than we men could think of in a century.

Tabula Rasa

So I returned five days later
With all my problems intact
All stuffed into cardboard boxes
Lying in wait in an empty room
Waiting quietly to be unpacked