If I could start again, a million miles away, I would keep myself, I would find a way.

"She was pretty, definitely, but more important was the book she kept in her bag. A girl with a book is innately attractive; men understand that if she can tolerate the act of reading for the sake of pleasure, she is likely to put up with all manner of nonsense for the sake of a relationship. I was smitten." Something that made me smile today. From a Jack Cazir article. It went on to make numerous unrelated points and lost me half way through. But there was a bit about Pick Up Artists and the Neil Strauss book called 'The Game'. I don't know why this one isn't compulsory reading for every girl who has the slight chance of coming in contact with these douche bags. Harsh? Sigh. Read the book. It is unbearably infuriating in general and devastatingly accurate for most part.

It was a slow day. Spent within the protective walls of the house. Nothing interesting caught my mind. Pending work was procrastinated for another time. Phone calls weren't returned. Chores were delayed for a while. It was a day where there was time to watch the sun filter through the gaps of the window blinds. Or stand by the kitchen sink and let flowing water trickle through the dirty dishes. I hurt myself today to see if I still feel. I focus on the pain, the only thing that is real. Oh the old familiar sting. When pain is a habit, there is no going back. What have I become, my sweetest friend? Everyone I know, goes away in the end.

I could blame it all on lack of sleep. But the heart is feeling self righteous today. It wants to own up to its deeds. I don't know what pleasure is derived here, but it isn't mine to feel. The thoughts are seldom nice but they are there in plenty. I don't know if you know. I don't know if I know. It is so difficult to share vision with your people when they are not only on a different page but reading a different book altogether. A whole different book. Is it a thriller? Do I survive? Is it a happy ending? If you had anything to do with it, then probably not.

I find it very, very easy to be true

I find myself alone when each day is through.

Yes, I will admit I am a fool for you.

Because you are mine,

I walk the line.

I miss the confirmation that we provided each other. When I saw a shooting star, I always had you to turn to and ask if you saw it too. Did that really happen? Shouldn't we hurry to make a wish? Don't they always come true? And in a life that is full of amazing moments, I could do with some confirmation. Someone to tell me that it isn't all a dream. That the brownies taste great and that I should bake more often. And then there is consolation. When the simple sadness of the passing of beauty becomes unbearable. When death, loss, fear and pain visit, I miss you. It really felt like everything would be okay, when you would say so. Do you miss it? It's okay if you don't. There is always someone else we can turn to. For consolation. For an embrace. A kiss. For love. It's okay. We will be okay.

Beneath the stains of time, the feeling disappeared. You are someone else and I am still right here. What have I become, my sweetest friend? Everyone I know goes away in the end.

It's so late. And I said something about wanting to have Subway. You said you would take me there. You asked me to be ready in five. But I had just taken a shower and my hair weren't dry. You shrugged and said that you will leave the window open. It made me smile, that thought. The thought of an open window. It is a beautiful one. Especially when we are thousands of miles away.

I never apologized. For that time when you told me how you felt. About us. About me. I was in denial I think. The signs were clear but I had refused to accept them. I am sorry for the way I reacted. For the lack of reaction, more like it. I saw you struggle through your words and I didn't utter any comforting thoughts. I could have made it easier, but I was too shell shocked. Three years is so long. So long. Where did it go wrong? I apologize. For not feeling the same way.

You ask me if I will forget my baby.

I guess I will, someday.

You ask me if I will get along.

I guess I will, someway.

You ask me if I will miss the kisses.

I guess I will, everyday.

You ask me if I will find another.

I don't know, I can't say.

I don't like it but I guess things happen that way.

[Johnny Cash Lyrics. The title and everything else which is in bold font.]