BluE Scrubs

Location: Living room, curled up in a baggy oversized jumper and a pair of worn out corduroy, on the sofa.

Scent: Strawberry candle, the flame flickering full body in the grail made into a shape of a sparrow, and the eager smell of the steamy Cadbury’s hot chocolate.

On TV: Joe Pasquale rubbing his hands together and snowflakes coming down showering the overjoyed audience including Melanie Syke.

Also watching: The Samsung E800, just in case I’ve gone deaf from the silence, and it ‘rings’.

Reading: Saturday- Ian McEwan..

Thoughts: Now that Maggie’s moved out, who am I getting for a flatmate? What am I to you? What colour is your mood now? What are you doing? Have they received my application form?
Do I go to Siti Nurhaliza's concert?

Listening: Norah Jones – Don’t Miss You At All.

As I sit and watch the snow
Fallin’ down
I don’t miss you at all
I hear children playin’ laughin’ so loud
I don’t think of your smile

So if you never come to me
You’ll stay a distant memory
Out of my window I see lights going dark
Your dark eyes don’t haunt me

And then I wonder who I am
Without the warm touch of your hand
As I sit and watch the snow
Fallin’ down

I don’t miss you at all
I don’t miss you at all

Sometimes, in grief, we say what we don’t mean and it’s something we later regret. In temporary insanity from flaming anger, we tell ourselves, we don’t feel what we precisely feel. Is that just us feeding our matrix of ego? If we’re honest about how we feel, does it give any guarantee that people are going to be extra careful with it? No, you’d be a fool to think so.

Frantic pattering on the window snapped me out of my spiralling thoughts into the abyss of self pity. I couldn’t believe it. It's a sacred razzmatazz of whiteness out there. It's a blizzard. It's confusing. It’s mid February and it’s snowing!

I opened the window and for a moment I wish I could share the same fresh cold air, but as I said, I don't miss you.