the rain licks the skin of our house. people around me have been blogging, texting, talking like crazy about being down by the gutter. it seems it's that time of the year once again.

stash the hankies and pull the cord off of that "all by myself" you're using as mood music. steer clear from your window panes and the misted glass. i'm not about to add a digit to the statistics. been there, done that. god bless celine dion.

maybe it came with age. maybe it came with experience. maybe i've demystified "solitude and loneliness" long enough that i'm getting the seven-year itch. i'm swinging over to "happy". i'm now too bored to be depressed.

sadness used to be a good friend. back in high school when love was a fad that every kid had alongside his jansport and nokia 5110, i was a sheep that languidly walked with the herd. i would drown myself in "i love you goodbye", "friend of mine" and "if i'm not in love with you". i asserted that david pomeranz was rubbing it in, sprinkling salt on the wound, when he went about the airwaves announcing that two strangers falling in love is magic. i used to practice synchronizing tears with every memory which i labeled "painful".

now, everything seems redundant. i don't have someone who treats me special. if i go on sulking about that, i won't do anything i haven't done before. i've done all the conceivable and irreverent ways of wallowing. it feels foolish having made them a routine. it feels useless going all through that trouble just to get the point across to the powers that be.

i'm a worn and torn pair of shoes.

but every so often i still whisper a wish. i still utter a prayer, that all these will lead me to you.