Hic Sunt Dracones

the smylere with the knyf under the cloke

Jedem das Seine

A little voice in my head, echoed a whisper. As I lay to sleep, in the darkness of space and the din of percussion and strings. The guys and gals, outside the room, relished the harmony of post-rock vibration.

Midnight already passed. The adjoining neighbour at the mercy of the Indie trio — although at the end, the music seemed to lull, than to roll. They were relishing their youthful days.

That little voice stirred, piercing the waning tune. It echoes of my youthful past with the Teesside Girl.

Last Saturday was the Teesside Girl’s wedding dinner. I’m invited, but chose not to go.

Since I got back from UK, it took us one year to get in contact with one another. Broken — as I eased myself with solitary life. And another one year to get to know each other again. Broken — yet again, as I’m a wee too late, to woo her back.

I felt like a child with a wreck heart in a wild abandon of fruitless adventure. Crying as he found the jewel, no more than a lesser stone.

I’m a little sad, but then it’s nothing. All will be in passing.

In the end, it’s a little lie just to make myself better.

+++

Near 2 am, *pat pat* the Neko consoled. A smile, etched on my face.

+++

“Thanks bro. See you when you come back. :-)” said the Teesside Girl this morning, as I congratulated her on her blissful wedding.

Bro?

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Written by cthulhu

July 7, 2008 at 10:00 pm

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