"I cried for madder music and
for stronger wine"
— Ernest Dowson
It's that time of the year again. Two weeks into the new year and nothing has changed. How I got myself into this predicament, I'll never know. What has been going over in my mind does not make much sense either. I have been thinking, lately. I have been thinking random thoughts. It's that time of the year again. Winter. The tendons frigid around my bones. I have been screaming out in hysterical pain.
Depressed, hopeless, helpless ... restless. Heart-burned ... stuck in this eternal melancholy disposition, pining for 'madder music' and 'stronger wine'. Volatile feelings, evaporating slowly into thin air.
And, out of nowhere, you show up with the drops of the night on your hair, and slow - you burn into my soul with whispers in my ears - "We'll do what lovers do. You don't have to say you love me. All the clowns have gone to bed. We are legends."
On 31st December 2012, sometime after dinner, I had a very interesting, and amusing little conversation with my mother. Wait a minute, I don't think that it is wise to call it a conversation; let's just call it ‒ 'exchange of statements' for the moment. It is humourous and overdosed. Its a 'mock-epic', and I just couldn't stop myself from sharing it here, even though it is really personal. Please keep in mind that the following statements were exchanged in good spirit with holiday smiles.
Me : Mother, my heart is broken.
Mother : Son, mine broke a long time ago.