Blank

I came home to emptiness.

An empty room. An empty bed.

An empty life.


I haven't slept since I came home. Maybe the 20-hour snooze throughout the journey home is keeping me wide awake now. Or perhaps the emptiness of everything is making it hard for me to fall asleep.

I've emptied my luggage as much as I can. Taken the dirty laundry out to the wash. Put the unworn clothes back into the wardrobe. Stacked all the new clothes I've bought in the cupboard away from the prying eyes of my mother.

The room is still in a mess. It seems messier than it had ever been.

Somehow, I never seem to be able to clean out the mess in my life and in my room.


It's nine, and most folks should be at work by now.

Work - that's something I don't have to think about for the next few days.

I'm grateful for the free days I have to myself - maybe it's a good start to think about stuff and sort things out.

But I'm skeptical, and fearful. Where do I go from here? What am I to do? What am I supposed to say? How should I get myself heard, and get all my questions answered?

Will I see you again?

Is it really all over? Just like that?

I wish I could have the whole house to myself, but I don't and I won't.

My bed is my refuge... and maybe somewhere else out there.


I knew very well this is what I would come back to.

But there's no way I can run away from it.


There are a couple things that need to be done.

My phone is fucking dead. I hope the fix wouldn't cost me a bomb.

I am going to try out a form of pain therapy called inking. Maybe the physical pain infliction may not compare much to the pain I'm going through now, but it might awaken me from my senses - and awaken me to a brand new dawn.

I don't know. We'll see.