When I Die

Letting Go

I'm here. I'm alive. I haven't done what many of your mails told me not to. I don't think I'm going to do that. Two reasons for that; one slightly poetic.

I don't think anything worse can really happen in my life anymore. There's nothing left for Fate to screw up. I've got nothing to lose. That's reason number one.

Reason number two is I have to live the life she could not.

Which one is poetic? Take your pick.

Before all the crap about me, wish you all a Happy New Year. Go on and have some fun for me, will ya?

Go kiss someone. Go hug someone. Go slap someone on the back and say, "howdy, fella? Haven't seen you in a long long time!"

Go spread some love. Go get some.

Back to my crap.

What I'm doing right now is listening to a cover of a song called "Behind Blue Eyes". Limp Bizkit's singing the cover. It's by The Who. One of the song's lines is this: My love is vengeance, and that is never free.

My sentiments exactly.

Another one of that song's lines is: No one knows what it's like/To be mistreated/To be defeated/Behind blue eyes

I know. I know what defeated feels like. I know how it is to lose the game. The game of life.

What I did all this time was shoot imaginary pencils at the wall opposite my bed. Hitting imaginary targets. Always hitting the bullseye, of course.

What I did not do is attend college. What I did not do is see if I passed the exam. What I did not do is return Ash's calls. Ditto Mike. Ditto Sid. Ditto Rishi.

What I did was puke. What I did was sit in the john and fart.

What I did was play with my Yo-yo.

What I did was get a haircut. My hair used to be shoulder length. Now it's more like scalp length.

What I did was grow a beard.

What I did not do is visit Granny in the hospital.

What I did not do is sing at the New Year's Party.

What I did not do is wish everyone at W.com a happy new year.

What I did not do is smile when Shalu smiled her cute little smile. Poor kid.

What I did not do is cut my fingernails.

What I did not do is scrub my back.

What I did not do is play any instruments.

What I did do is wish I could play. Everytime I picked that guitar, it was like slipping back into something more... serene.

What I did do is eat an apple a day.

What I did do is read a book.

What I did not do is read the book.

What I did do is wonder. Question.

What I did not do is pray.

What I did not do is wish Kate was here so I could read the diary.

What I did wish more than anything was that Kate was here so I could read Amy's diary.

Kate said she'll be here around 15th Jan.

So there's that much to live for.

I want to talk about something else in the meantime. I want to talk about something that ended happy.

I want to talk about a love story.

I want to tell you one.

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A Love Story

Once upon a time before before (could be after after also; I don't know for sure), a boy called Sammy loved a girl called Rachel. In his honest opinion, Rachel was a pretty fooking spectacoolar girl. She looked pretty fooking goddamn spectacoolar. She talked pretty fooking spectacoolar. She made him laugh all the time. And she laughed a pretty amazing fooking spectacoolar laugh. She was just a pretty goddamn amazing fooking spectacoolar girl and he loved her very very very much.

One day, which was the equivalent of our Valentine's Day, he decided to tell her that he loved her. That day, he got up early, had a big, long bath, combed his hair several dozen times till it was so hard-set that not even the Big Bad Wolf could huff and puff it down.

He knew dressing up was something only girls did; but he wanted to look special for that special occasion.

He went out and rented a suit.

He went out and bought a big bouquet.

He also bought a big box of chocolates, which cost a damn bunch of greenies, but he thought it'd be worth it.

He asked her out that evening, and wonders of wonders, she accepted!

He greeted at her house with the bouquet. He gave her the box of chocolates. She warmed up and got all bubbly and said he was a very cute boy and that it was very sweet of him to bring all the goodies.

He took her to a nice little restaurant where they played prehistoric (or posthistoric) ballads.

He kept cracking jokes which made her laugh her pretty fooking spectacoolar laughs all the time.

Then he asked her if she would dance with him. And Oh My God, she said yes.

When they were dancing, he was suddenly fidgeting. Thing is, he was feeling so blushy that he had his hands around her and she had her's around him, that he couldn't think rationally.

Sometime later, she asked him if he was feeling all right. He said yes, of course, he was feeling pretty fooking spectacoolar.

"Stop acting like a nutcase then and dance," she said.

So they danced. Danced like they do in all the great legends like... he didn't know what kinds of legends (nor do I)... but they were legends nonetheless.

Finally, after much mental bamboozling, he thought he had found the guts to say it. Say the damn thing. Say that he thought she was pretty fooking... well, you know, and then ask her if she would be his... girlfriend.

He did ask, too. But what she said broke his heart.

She said that yes, she thought he was a pretty cooky spectacoolar guy, and that any girl would love to have such a sweet boyfriend, but he was very poor. And she said her boyfriend would be very very rich.

He was a bit sad for a second. Then angry at every rich guy out there. Then he thought of something that pushed all the sadness and anger away. He told her, "But I can always grow rich! I've got a lifetime ahead of me, see?"

"Is that so?"

"Yes," he said. "Of course!"

"In that case," she said, "kiss me."

He kissed her.

What happened next was like every other legend. They were married, had a couple of kids. And when the third kid popped out, they were rich. Don't ask me how they got rich, though. If I knew that, I'd be rich myself, don't you think?

But yeah, they were rich. And happy. As happy as any happy people can be.

Their neighbours, Mister and Missus Prattley, always thought that Sammy and Rachel made a pretty damn fooking spectacoolar couple.

Even when the spectacoolar couple died they looked pretty damn fooking spectacoolar.

They died on the same day, two minutes apart. They died smiling.

And that, dear readers, is how my pretty fooking spectacoolar tale ends.

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What I want to tell you is that this story is true. Except for the "They died on the same day" bit. And the names and the time zone and the neighbours.

What I ask myself is that if such love can exist in this age too, why is it that so few people ever really get to see it?

My problem is this, you see. I'm in love. I'm in love with someone who hasn't existed in our world for a long long time. My problem is that knowing this doesn't make it any easier or any different.

My problem is I still love her.

My problem is that I'm a selfish prick.

My problem is that I want some love in return too.

My problem is that I know ghosts can't love you.

My problem is that I'm a selfish prick.

My problem is that I still love her.

My problem is I can't let go.

My problem is I can't let go.