And I sit her, and I wonder why do I bother living at all. There my friend lay with her eyes closed and I feel surreal. As if at any moment she might open her eyes and roll them at me like she always does but she doesn’t. And so I walk away from the coffin. I am silent; I light a cigarette; I smoke, in memory of her. Because that’s what we were good at, besides words and alcohol.

Around me, people talk. I try to be part of the conversation but it is pointless. What I want is silence. What I want is one more day with her. What I want is to hear her voice, her breathing, her heart beating. Just one more chance to make things right, for her for me for all of us.

– An excerpt from a work in progress

You write such pretty words, but life’s no storybook.

Words can’t describe how much I miss you Jaslyn. I miss you lots. But I’m doing a lot better, if you were interested to know.

Life’s not awesome-o but it’s great. I’m contented right now.

I just got back from Bangkok, got tons of shoes. Would have love to show ’em to you.

Sometimes, I have such a great deal within me that I wanna talk about to you. Like sharing the troubles I have, usually boy troubles.

And I can almost hear you say,

“You’re a heartbreaker, Erina. Go break their hearts.”

Y’know the strangest thing is that we both love sushis, but we never actually talked about sitting down and having a sushi meal together.

Strange isn’t it? Maybe our love for alcohol and cigarettes was all that was enough for us.

I haven’t been drinking much lately. Don’t feel up for all the burning sensation that runs through my body.

And I don’t smoke that much either. Doesn’t make me feel that good anymore though I do puff cos it helps me on a day to day basis. Pretty much why we started smoking in the first place eh?

And clubbing’s not all that fun and games anymore. I could never find a partner like you, and honestly, I’m not looking for someone to replace your spot.

I just want you back.

Strange isn’t it? How long you’ve been gone but I still hope you’ll pick up the phone and text me for a meetup.

Or write on my wall.

But it’s strangely empty. As though it’s waiting for a missing piece of puzzle to fall right into place.