on sadness...

"the tormented heart doesn't just find happiness, it becomes happiness".

¬umeed merchant. "the ground beneath her feet" by salman rushdie

my feet draws me to the sound of rock. and you, i am not so sure. but it must be a constant sadness that made us roam around the streets of angkor, trying to gather all that must make one long for something that would transform tormented hearts into a peaceful lullaby.

there are some sadness that only strangers can understand. i am probably trying to escape a past that wouldn't let go of me. and you, i am not so sure. but it must be a kind of burning to make us not want to read each other's stories to create something new that would transcend the complications of asking the ultimate question of why.

why?

have i become so sad to rest my challenges on a bench, the faint streetlight illuminating the place beside the river, your quarter-bottle of mekong whiskey rocking us? so sad to let myself feel the grass on my bare back, your arms cushioning my head as your words drowned in mine? are we both so sad to meander noiselessly into the night, trying to find solace inside each other's skin?

maybe this longing of being anything else but empty can be quenched tonight.

and so we tried...

and so we did...

or did we?

this is the sadness that only strangers can understand.

we succumb to it, hoping to make sense of fleeting things such as happiness.