I never could really believe that this day will finally reach me and catch me in despair and torn me apart, but it did. And I do believe in it now, since the ugly mouth of my bag is wide open waiting for the last items to be dropped in. Just some more ticking of the clock, some more drops on my keyboard, some more melancholic songs playing on my laptop put on reverse and… that’s it. Meanwhile, James Blunt’s guitar is painfully weeping:
You touched my heart you touched my soul.
You changed my life and all my goals.
And love is blind and that I knew when,
My heart was blinded by you.
I've kissed your lips and held your head.
Shared your dreams and shared your bed.
I know you well, I know your smell.
I've been addicted to you.
Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me…
…followed by a Devdas song that inevitably brings up Aishwaria Rai’s image in front of my eyes: Hamesha tumko chaha or chaha or chaha… and the sound of her bangles that matches the sound of my hasty clock.
And Googoosh is hurrying me up by her brave acceptance: “Vaqteshe, vaqteshe, raftan vaqteshe. Vaqteshe, az to gozashtan vaqteshe…”
“Nepara” is painting a Russian reverie: «Они знакомы давно, Но только не суждено быть им вместе... Утром ничего не случится, Утром будет все как вчера. Грезы – перелетные птицы, Тают, улетают с утра...» Blood-oozing medley of my faves.
And how can I resist my strengthened crave for one more pain-and-time-killer Marlboro?
And how can I not love and hate February at the same time? The very month that gave me a refreshing breather and by leaving me behind (or by being left behind) is throwing me into March’s strange, uncomfortable embrace in a strange uncomfortable place. And throwing out me only, by cutting off my strong 5-year old London-grown branch adorned by plentiful dazzling leaves including the one I’ve admired most.
I would have never left this terribly lovely and lovingly terrible city of the world. I got too much to leave behind in here. But as usual, life is not my Mother. Life is an ugly Bush-like unfair blindfolded blind-hearted thing with a sharp axe in its hand to cut off the branches with ripe fruits of happiness; the ones that make it feel jealous. A little jealous bogey it is.
Seconds are whirling in my absent mind, falling down into my restless heart and sneaking out through my feeble fingers so expeditiously… Where have I heard that clumsy word before: ‘expeditiously’? Well, from an ally of the axeman who was waiting for my ‘expeditious’ decision; the very decision that is sending torrents of torment to me now and again.
Now I can hear Robby singing: “No regrets. They don’t work. No regrets. They only hurt…” Don’t worry Robby. I’m still far beyond regretting and I don’t know whether it’s good or bad. I just don’t feel it. That’s it. But this “no regret” habit of mine doesn’t shield me against pains & hurts at all, if that's what you mean.