Of love and linens

It’s late at night now, sitting at the dining room table with ery as he downloads songs with the sounds of a silent bukit panjang outside. Pat's asleep. I love nights like this where we get to do our own things and yet be able to do it together. It seems a romanticized idea but there’s something about the simultaneous activity of him churning out beats and lyrics and me banging my way on the keyboard weaving stories that’s rather amazing. Feels close, the release of creative minds, almost better than anything ben and jerry can ever come up with.

I went to the doctors just now and was quite surprised that he was rather adamant not to prescribe me sleeping pills. I just want to sleep well, I promise not to pound them and never wake up, I felt like cooing. Only in severe conditions, he said. Like yada whatever. I have great difficulty sleeping these days and suffer during my morning shifts – which is sucky because I need to be mentally alert all the time in case a president dies or more chickens are culled – so I see no wrong with getting all pill-ed up in the name of productivity.

I pretty much stayed at home and chatted with various mates but what took me by surprise was a revelation - a seemingly peaches and cream relationship had ended because his love for her has faded. A term that should have been reserved for overly washed linens bound for the chute has found its equal in one man’s love for a woman he had once loved.

When you think about it, no matter how high the thread count or vibrant the colours are, its physical quality will eventually fade like external beauty. Do you throw it out or keep on using it till you’ve time to grab a new one? What do you with the old which kept you warm through all those nights? Evanesced love – where does it all go to?