café au lait; for u creepypai
for a particular person who well is always there though really i never say anything when i feel weird because i don’t know why but thank you very much and there you go the “surprise” i meant for you hmm since you couldn’t find the password yup yupp idkkk enjoy it but idk hahaahahahahahah yay it might be a pleasant one it might not be omg depends on how you see it but well wel wel welll i’ll write a nicer one for you soon i promise bcos i plan to oh wait iwasn’tsupposedtosaybut -its its another weird essay ish thing with a creepy little meaning behind which i doubt anyone would pick up though if you do i’d applaud you- but don’t mind the the angsty sad parts cos cos its meant to be ignored haha what i don’t
café au lait; no longer monochrome cache disks.
The white glossy finish of the bare table was donned with a simple combination of a thin notebook and a cup of coffee; Through the tinted glass panes I heard the rain impinge upon the earth, its fine incessant offspring of droplets rushing towards the sodden beds in a longing for warmth. Rain is indeed a calming little phenomenon; and this was the first thing I remembered clearly about him – he was one of the few who appreciated a pinch of peals of thunder, occasional streaks of lighting and the beating of sharp water globules as they fell onto his relatively tall frame. It was not a difficult task to imagine this particular soul frolicking in the rain contentedly, no matter how heavy it would be because he would embrace it all together, perhaps with exceptions once in awhile. I would admit the first time I heard him speak of such a liking for rain I deemed it as absurd, as something peculiar – rain had unfailingly been a dissenting indication, a seemingly deliberate aide-mémoire of the past, the plain sheets of creased polaroids. Yet I gave it a shot, stretching a stout arm out into the bare, receiving the water droplets on my arms and for once perhaps began to like rain; as well.
I pulled open the silver-rimmed drawer and picked out a box of chocolate sticks, the ones I recalled from one of my first memories of him besides the countless words which appeared on the elfin screen of a small phone – that day driblets of water teemed down from its comfortable resides of clouds as it left the corridors underlit, thirsty for luminance. I recall most vividly though, the silhouette, which pranced through the dark corridors with zest as his arms, swung about slightly in the windy evening. He stood slightly crouched before me with this box as he shoved it over; There was an unusual uncertainty as to whether I should take it simply because I felt faintly edgy despite the long list of reasons why I wouldn’t be. With a slight glimmer; Muttering words of thanks which could have been easily inaudible against the pattering of the rain, there marked one of the first memories; on a rainy day which unknowingly, provided warmth as a delightful flashback despite its little simplicity others would deem as a trifle.
Following I flipped through the crumpled pages of my thin notebook where I had taken down a concoction of sporadically nice pieces mixed with an awkwardly large ratio of daily muses in my usual scrawny handwriting which I had never grown fond of. I used to honour it as a runaway, a little corner in the edge of the busy life we led, a dark dusty corner perhaps which began to grow musty and blurry with the constant pierces of rants and angst which filled the pages yet it had been a noticeable change for over a period of time I had gotten into a fortunately eloquent writing spree in which I had gotten a chunk of inspiration for not only poetry but some prose which were for once, a spark of positivity. And perhaps it took a few minutes of flipping before I found a little something I wrote back then, with a name attached, a particular subject of interest; some sort of letter writing, a letter which was never meant to be sent due to the inability of the slightly trembling pair of weak hands, left to loiter about in the depths of desperation as perhaps I dropped the book; it was time for the slight haunting of disconcerting uncertainties which left me to clench my fists slightly and listen closely to the soft ticking on the clock. Twenty-five, twenty-six, I smiled slightly – the “attacks” of little spouts of caprice had never left entirely. Shrugging it off every time did not seem like a wise choice yet I made do because something never let me let loose such petty troublesome thoughts; probably chained up and enforced with several locks, keeping it in place until the day they rust away.
One time or another I weighed the momentousness of reminiscing old times; Those which might not have been important nor mean anything but they were probably the ones I’d recall most on a thundering sleepless night while looking out of the gaps between the window pane and the blinds as they rock back and forth in the wind, a stuffed meerkat lying beside me as it stares into space with its large eyes. The thought of a treasured presence, the absurdity of how adorable this one soul could be with a yellow stuffed duck lying calmly on his head, the warmth one would get from an awkward little exchange of words which never got too far from “but I’m following you”, followed by the usual slight joking cry or whine as he swung his arms once again as usual while he paced down the corridor slowly – these little bits and pieces perhaps moulded themselves into a strong cement wall, a self-proclaimed haven from the dark clouds which hovered above.
Looking up from the dark pages my eyes had grown subtly tired of fighting against, I picked up my phone which lit up in the inky dark room, reminding me of perhaps the spouts of comments I had brushed off from the day before; It is indeed rather irksome listening to the gleeful thoughts people had off liking an individual, their tapering understandings of the four lettered word they flung about without thought. They treated such feelings as a lonesome object, orbiting around nullity – revolving around nothing more than their varying thoughts of cartons of fluff and mushy notions. These beliefs they held were, not at all wrong, yet led to their slight judgement as they stared at me awkwardly as they asked me questions over and over again for which they never got an answer which satisfied their ears. Yet all I could say was I liked how we were, the long paragraphs which made up our texts speaking of the weirdest things ever; especially the rarity of speaking of 1-4-3 and most importantly, the sense of security behind the words because it reminded me that there’s another soul out there I was sure was right there; right there, who I’d be willing to be there for as well, constantly wondering if he got tired of replying such lengthy texts.
I would however happily applaud myself for my inability to keep things on track because I had honestly meant for this to be a story yet already I am far off the smooth path along the road. Trudging along the quiet road then again left me sitting by the pavement watching people and the few cars go by; some sort of reflection as I touched the puddle of water beside me my fingers shrinking back at its oddly splitting cold touch.
“I can’t escape this now; Unless you show me how”
woop. spot the hidden meaning!!! ok wat hidden meaning really sounds weird but well i don’t know haha sighs i i just potray what i feel really subtly in this while while trying to thank you at the same time so it gets a little weird omg but i hope you liek it i don’t know ahahhaahhdasabbabbaabs bye
(i really neeed to learn how to get away from inclining myself towards everything angsty damn)