Tag Archives | crying

The prank that went wrong

I tried so hard, I real­ly did.

It was a prank that I have pulled that went seri­ous­ly wrong.

At first, I thought I want­ed to see his reac­tion on how he would see things. Now, I guess I have to change my point of view to a whole new per­spec­tive.

I could not sleep last night. Pen­ning my [last entry](http://www.cedricang.com/personal/thoughts-20090427/ “Thoughts”) I was already exhaust­ed, per­haps with what has been going on for the past few months, per­haps with what has been going on late­ly. I tried to slot in hints on my Face­book, hints that I was­n’t ready for a long dis­tance rela­tion­ship. I am a ‘clos­et­ed’ per­son. Clos­et­ed not that I am not out, but a rather, I pre­fer to be close to some­one, the be able to hug the per­son, to kiss the per­son, and in return to be loved.

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Flashbacks

I woke up ear­ly today. Real­ly ear­ly.

I could not sleep. Insom­nia has got the best of me. That’s not just it, flash­back of our moments with the boy hit me hard again, till I almost kneel down to my knees beg­ging it to stop.

I want to cry it out, loud if I could, but I can’t. Streak of tears just kept on falling because it knows I miss the boy very much.

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I can feel a hot one

I could feel a hot one tak­ing me down

For a moment, I could feel the force

Faint­ed to the point of tears

And you were hold­ing on to make a point

What’s the point?



I’m but a clean man, sta­ble and alone man

Make it so I won’t have to try

The faces always stay the same

So I face the fact that I’m just fine

I said that I’m just fine



I remem­ber, head down,

After you had found out

Man­na is a hell of a drug

And I need a lit­tle more, I think

Because enough is nev­er quite enough

What’s enough?



I took it like a grown man cry­ing on the pave­ment

Hop­ing you would show your face

But I haven’t heard a thing you’ve said

In at least a cou­ple hun­dred days

What’d you say?



I was in the front seat, shak­ing it out

And I was ask­ing if you felt alright

I nev­er want to hear the truth

I want to hear your voice, it sound­ed fine

My voice, it sound­ed fine

I could feel my heart­beat tak­ing me down

And for the moment, I would sleep alright

Invad­ing with a self­ish fear

To keep me up anoth­er rest­less night

Anoth­er rest­less night



The blood was dry, it was sober

The feel­ing of audi­ble cracks

And I could tell it was over

From the cur­tains that hung from your neck



And I real­ized that then you were per­fect

And my teeth rip­ping out of my head

And it looked like a paint­ing I once knew

Back when my thoughts weren’t entire­ly intact



To pray for what I thought were angels

End­ed up being ambu­lances

And the Lord showed me dreams of my daugh­ter

She was cry­ing inside your stom­ach



And I felt love again

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The problems

Sleep­less­ness, that is what I can use to describe myself.

I would want to blame it on the dif­fer­ent time zones, they call it jet lagged. Yes, I have been liv­ing on a jet set­ter’s lifestyle since late Novem­ber. It was fun, to be able to trav­el all around, meet­ing dif­fer­ent peo­ple before I start myself in Uni in May.

But that is not the point, the point is, I want­ed to stay away from my home in Kuala Lumpur. I had want­ed to do this for a very long time, try­ing to see if I could for­get the boy. The truth is, I can’t. On the boy’s birth­day last year, while I was in Brazil, I gave the boy a call to wish him a hap­py birth­day. I mean, it would only be appro­pri­ate if I do that, at least, I thought it that way.

Not only was I wrong about the whole thing, I still end­ed up cry­ing at night, hug­ging a pil­low, that I was well aware that it would not hug me back.

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Tears

It has been a cou­ple of weeks since the boy had announced that he has found a new boy friend. It is also the same time that me, the ex boy friend been cry­ing almost every night.

How can I help it? I could not do any­thing but just let the tears flow from my eyes to my cheek and drop till my shirt, and some­times on the bed.

Almost every night I cry myself silent­ly, almost every night all I could do is to think of the mess I am in; the mess that I might not be able to clean up, a mess that I do not want to have any­thing to do with; a mess that I have regret­ted cre­at­ing in the first place.

Lis­ten­ing to the Top 40 hit songs do not help, my ‘super emo’ play list has been on the iPod for the past nights accom­pa­ny­ing my tear of lone­li­ness.

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