Saturday, February 11, 2006
wax and other matters

wax fascinates me. you can do anything with it, almost. shave away at it slowly until it falls in tiny curls at your feet. grind it into powder with the heel of your hand. heat it up and mould it into any shape you want it to be. pour melted wax of different colours together and watch them swirl and fade into a different shade. dip your finger into it and watch the clear liquid dry into an opaque film on your skin. yes, wax is fascinating.

and it fascinates me further, how you behave like it. i watch you allow yourself to be melted and poured into an empty vessel that defines your new shape. you are happy enough, malleable, in another's hands. the excess wax is scraped off and thrown away if it cannot be recycled.

i dreamt you died and i screamed at you for leaving me behind. i remember clutching your fast-cooling hand and digging my nails into my own palms. how quickly the dead leave us, and leave us with nothing but craters in our hearts. i crawled into the hospital bed next to you, and held you close, but you didn't return. i woke up with wetness by my eyes and curses on my lips. it was then that i realised (again) how things are so different now. we used to run to each other shrieking and hugging after a weekend apart. those exuberant hugs have since been replaced by cool, reserved greetings that never go beyond a smile and a 'how are you?', as if we didn't miss each other so much it made us cry. is this what it means to grow up? why don't we ever hold each other anymore? i don't want to hug you on your deathbed, regretting that i never held you while you could feel it. but i guess now that we're older, we're more cautious about being seen as anything but straight. you ought to be, anyway. i don't have to. i just need a really good cuddle right now. wish you were here. but you stupid prat, you're probably off somewhere having fun and not thinking about me at all. i get this feeling i'm about to be accused of being morbid, angsty and melodramatic. to hell with all of that. i don't know why we're all so fundamentally afraid of being seen as angsty. i agree with nietzche on one point: it is better to be miserable and wise than contented and stupid.
8:24 PM ; 0 comments