What you want is not meant for you

I saw him. He bought himself a cup of coffee and as usual he was gazing at his Blackberry as if dreading all the people around him. I used to do the same thing, pretend that I was busy writing a text message.
Now you wonder why I didn’t walk up to him to say hello. I don’t really know. Well, I thought he was with someone, as he was talking to some woman, but in the end he left the café on his own. Then I realised there was no point.
He has lost a little weight since July. The Tintin figure is coming to show. I was hoping he had cut down on the coffee.
My heart hasn’t beaten like that in a while. No, I’m not referring to coffee…I haven’t drunk coffee since last summer.

I have slightly lost touch with my novel. I’m too exhausted to focus. There are so many things that my brain is currently unable to fathom and yet I can see the incompleteness, unable to fill the many holes.

Did I mention I received about four Christmas gifts? I don’t buy Christmas gifts, but having received some, means I’d have to return the favour. But I no longer have ideas for gifts and I don’t have the time to post them. By the time I have time the post offices are closed. I don’t see the point in gifts. Social conventions and human interactions are becoming more and more complicated than ever. I don’t even have time for myself, how could they expect me to have time for them? Sometimes I wish I could simply tape my fingers shut and not utter a word like the ones I’ve just uttered. They are unforgivable. Like, I’m unworthy of your kindness. I can no longer return the favour.

I now understand what Buk meant when he said that you have to dedicate a day to doing nothing. You simply lie on your bed, toss and turn, stare at the ceiling for no reason and just do nothing. I understand that it was his kind of meditation, his moment of calm. But in moments like these I would fantasize about killing myself, which is why they must be avoided at all costs.
When Stuart sent Ellen on vacation, she didn’t know what to do with herself and in the end her dark faculties had outlived her, engulfed her and dragged her into her worst nightmares. Who has the time to face his demons nowadays? We’re all too busy; too busy being with the wrong people, too busy dying with the wrong people. And when the right person appears, you let him walk by. But it doesn’t matter as you no longer have room to accommodate regrets. You’re full of fiction material that keeps you alive and whatever sentiment you have collected can be utilised and transformed into something more powerful. You might call it a living lie, but all I care about is the recycled sentiment that is half mine and half my creation’s. This is how you share. This is how you understand yourself.

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