Inkling: Carousel

Hold me.

Did he just tell me he wanted me to hold him? Or did he order me to hold him? Is this his way of making me feel needed? Or is this him undermining my person. Is this him making me his scapegoat again? Or does he actually want to feel my arms around him? Impossible. After everything that had happened over the summer, he wouldn’t want me in the same room, let alone hold him. But he said those words. Does he still love me? Or is this the beginning of another one of his manipulative ploys? Am I going be one of his toys again? If so, do I even care? Would I mind? Of course I would. I should mind. But I don’t.

Hold me.

His eyes lie. I know that now. But I couldn’t help but look into them and be lead to believe he actually cares. He wants me to hold him. Does he?

If I hold him, would I be giving in? Is that going to be me being the slut that I usually am? Will it mean im stupid? Will it mean he won? But if I don’t, would I regret it? Will I be that guy who would show his picture to my friends and say “he’s the one who got away”?

Hold me.

And I do. And it all starts again from here.

Ink Drips: Rationalizing Break-ups

(not based on real events but based on the emotions of the writer at his moment)

He took his strides as deliberately as the way his hair fell on his cheeks. His hair on his cheeks – another one of the things Mark wanted him to change. He mused at his own reflection on the black Mazda parked outside his favourite tea shop. He knew he wasn’t perfect, but he always thought he was good-looking, regardless. But Mark kept on pointing out things he wanted him to change.

He pushed his face closer to the tinted car window, trying to get a better view of his nose – the nose that Mark never really liked, he recalled. Slowly he saw a face materialize besides his. He made a quick twist to look at who it was but the fates had never been kind to him and that moment they were the cruellest. Let’s just say everything was resolved with a bloodied nose, apologies served and numbers exchanged with a guy who owned a black Mazda, who liked milk tea, who didn’t mind his nose, who didn’t want his hair cut, who thought he was cute as hell and who felt like a guy like him shouldn’t be let alone bumping other guys and giving them a good bruising.

He was never the type of guy who cheated on the boy he dated. Justin wasn’t that person. He was loving. He tried to understand every single thing Mark did. He loved Mark. But lately, the boy he fell inlove with more than a year ago, was changing. But these he still understood. The changes, he intellectualized. He analyzed ever little detail of change as just him going through a phase. He was in love. And love, usually blinds you.

He still liked tea though, so every day since that moment with black Mazda guy, he would go to the tea shop, and casually wait for him to come around. The guy never did though. But that moment helped him realize so many things about his self – about how he felt about himself.

He wasn’t inlove anymore. And he knew he shouldn’t be made to stay in a relationship with someone he didn’t love enough. So it ended. It ended with  a phone call and a lame excuse for a breakup. It wasn’t Justin’s fault. It was no ones, but he still blamed himself. He still had the guy’s number, but he never called him. As for the sad Mark, he carried on and found love elsewhere. Mark found love even before Justin.

Justin new he made a mistake. But it was one of those mistakes that you never really regret. He was in love. And it is always better to love and lost and not to have loved at all.

You see, this isn’t a story of broken hearts. This is a story of winning – of break-ups and of choices, good ones.

DAY DREAMING

Day Dreaming by insane chemist



The sound of a drill bellowing two floors down, the cool morning breeze caressing my barely awake face, the sunlight – sweet sunlight, against her creamy, pale cheeks, gave me a sense of ease – of comfort.
I watched as her hair fell down her perfectly slender back. I sat there in awe of the goddess seated right in front of me – facing the same board as I was, listening to the same math teacher’s voice as I was.
I felt as if we were connected – related by the minute sameness of the things going on in her moment and in mine.
The drill gave a burst of shrieks; it must have broken down. The class went into a flurry of chit chatters and she turned to me and smiled; a smile unsurpassable in beauty. She beckoned me to lean forward. I did so without hesitation. She asked if I had gotten the hang of translating equations. I said I’ve mastered it last night.
“So you did study.” She said with that smile on her face which seemed to melt away every bad thing in sight. “I studied only because you made me.” I said while smiling the brightest smile I could have mustered. She giggled and a pink blush appeared across her nose.
She didn’t say anything after that, nor did I. We just sort of stared at each other. Smiling.
The teacher saw me drawn too far from my seat. He shot me an accusing look. I jerked back to my seat mechanically; as if that wasn’t the first time I’ve been caught doing that.
She looked at me for the last time and she winked. I returned the gesture biting my lower lip. She almost laughed out loud. I drowned myself in her giggles and laughter.
But the laughter became louder and louder and I felt someone poking me.
I almost jumped out of my seat. I woke up and everyone was giggling and pointing at me. “Sleeping again Mr. Credo?” My Math teacher gave me a stern look.
The bell rang – saved by the bell. Everyone left, including her; my goddess, my soul mate. She left as if not even knowing I existed.
A mental note to self: The mind plays the cruelest tricks in Math class.