Holding hands. Sweaty palms. My eyes dart furiously at all corners of the movie screen, trying my tyrant best to get a focus point right between the hero's eye, while questioning the lack of air in this theatre. Profanity escape merciless in bite size as i curse in silence my wise decision of putting on this brand new skinnies, knowing well enough that i would over eat my steak and mash at dinner. Now the thought of unbuttoning it swim across my forehead like an ailing harry potter fighting to get the image of voldermort bathing in the river of the dark forest out of his head. Holding my breath, i move a hairline away from the sunken depth of the seat, only to trigger the eject button from his hand and here on i sat, in my own seat, with my own hands to myself, sulking into the echo of the theatre. That instinctively mark the end of my otherwise perfect date, and him in that department. And many weeks after that, i replay the scenario scene by scene in the vanity of my wake, dissecting every heartbeat of the date, searching in vain the answer to my misery; The rain pour at my parade.
Troubled thoughts. Sleepless nights. I begun to question the existence of a storybook ending, and the myth behind the rumoured happily ever after. I read that every happiness in this lifetime, is a result from a scarify done in the last. Every smile, hides the hard work of a million sorrows. Every push, is a pull from the other end. And the more i dwell into the spectrum of believing that there is someone out there for every one in the room, the more i become skeptical of its principal. Perhaps its time to wake up and know that there really isn't enough hope laying around for the new thirties anymore. The inevitable has dawned on the party of the single-hood. The apocalypse predicted in the mayan's prophecy might actually echo to mankind and its relationship, and not the planet-crashing/rise-of-the-demented-black-wolf-from-hell's-mouth theory that we are force to believe in. I hit a dead end.
Cloudy days. Rainy nights. The universe i had set out to conquer no longer exist. The paradise i dreamt is merely a patch of grass by the prairie.
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