Car
And when he kissed me, full on the mouth, I was caught completely off guard. Oblivious amongst the animals in their own world to the dance floor, my tongue couldn’t deny his. It was just supposed to be air-kisses goodbye on my part. But he made it a breathy hello, long after our introduction. I needed to see him. In the bright lights of the restaurant downstairs. Sometimes my vision fails me through the smoke and darkness of the usual crowded Saturday bar scene. I needed to hear him. And not through shouted whispers two people share with blasted house music in their ears temporarily deafening. Tall, scruffy, dark blonde hair, blue eyes. Like a familiar actor

Six O Six (part two)
I woke up at 9 a.m later that morning, enveloped in your arms underneath the familiar comfort of pseudo expensive white sheets. I don’t remember how or when I fell asleep. I must have dozed off in the midst of being drunk and disappointed with his lack of caring attention. Cause I fooled myself to thinking I was so heartbroken I needed dirty dirty sex in a willing stranger’s hotel room. Your hotel room. Or so I thought. I was still in all my clothes, except for the black cashmere cardi I had over my pink tube top and dark denim jeans. That was lying over the single love seat at the edge of the bed. So no lovin’ here I supposed th

Six 0 Six (part one)
I finally picked up on the 8th call, deliberately missing the previous seven attempts you made to reach me that cold morning. Even after we shared that incredible kiss in the rain, somehow I still had the inclination to run back to him. I know I am stupid. Always have been. I was sobbing into my mobile receiver, and you asked why. “Heartbroken …” I answered. Obviously it didn’t go as well as I expected it would when I went back, only to have him spit on my bleeding heart out in the open instead. There I was alone in my car, in the almost deserted carpark, intoxicated and nursing shattered dreams, and a possible incoming hangover. You told me

Drama Mama
It was one of those quiet lazy Sunday evenings. You know, the kind where you spend in your boyfriend’s arms watching a movie, or go out for a bit of coffee and cigarettes at the nearest coffee joint. So there we were, Aida and I, sitting in our whatever clothes and messed up ponytails, a duck’s ass would have looked better. Starbucks Mont Kiara was, surprisingly, empty. Sans for two groups of friends sharing laughter, a few couples and their children, dancing around the fountain – and ah, the scattered lonely singles looking for love on their laptops thinking they should pr