my friday night...

I seek solace.
I find only temporary ones.
I seek relief.
Yet it comes not to me.

In the evening.
I chat with Kok for awhile.
His musings cheer me up aplenty.
But the respite is only for that while.

I seek out my prince for dinner.
Seeing him brings me up a notch.
But the buoy is transient.
And I sink again after I leave him to head for home.

Walking in the slight drizzle.
Plugged into my mp3.
I am oblivious to the surroundings .
Intent only on reaching my destination, the MRT.

A wave of melancholia sweeps over me.
Magnified by the sentimental verses ringing in my ear.
And intensified by the solemn night of pink skies
I feel a surge of unwanted tears, rising up behind my eyes.

This is insane I say.
To feel this way.
This is not the way.
Get a grip, girl, get a grip.

It must be tiredness.
It must be disorganisation.
It must be the weak mind.
And it must be the weak will.

I seat myself on the train.
And I bury myself in my book.
Still plugged into my mp3.
As I chug-a-chug home.