I would not have address myself as romantic until someone reminded me of that earlier. I hate the cliche-ness in the word. But what then form the beauty in romanticizing about the past, the beauty and the memories.. If anything of the present time is folly and mortal, then am I wrong to think that the past would be exempted from time? It has passed time, thus immobile and eternal. History could not be changed, time made present temporary but he was not aware that he accidentally made the past eternal. careless, careless time.
It was probably after I start driving Pam home from Yan's when I accidentally ventured into the past again. Was it that time tried to punish me for the insulting remark, or was it mere accidental that I crossed over just as I always wished I can re-live those moments. Indolence and freedom. Warmth and emotions. Distance and the air. Night and the sweet touch of the wind from the nearby but out of sight dark sea. Lights that sparkled in distance and my immature side-parking skills.
I drove with the person that remained through the time and we did the things we would have done just as if we were in those days. They reconciled. Just like they did loved and the lights of their innocent hopes that they love and always will love. Through the ways and routes and streets and road, all of which we would travel, with voices and silences and soft music playing, just as they always could. The good-byes and good nights and the serenity of sisterhood.
I drove on the way just as I would, the way home, both old and new. And so at the junction I made an impulsive move, my driving skills instantly inadequate again and my nerves as young and anxious as I would be. pass the flyover overlooking the highways and lights and cars and my last night of independence days. Down and turned at the place which I once walked and drove and not noticed of and I parked my car at the space which the old me would consider good, with skills just as bad as I once had. I could not help smiling, though I did not know I've ventured through time, I thought it was too good, too close, too warm, to be true.
I walked in the street, dark and somewhat creepy, passed the guards all of whom seem somewhat sleepy. And so I walked and down near the pool and to the place where I would walk home through. My pace were light and soon turned slow, from the cheerfulness of a girl to the gentle press on the walkway. There it is, as it always had been, where I would look at from 5 floors above. Through that curtains which i would wonder and there came my words and mt thoughts. I looked briefly at the places it had been, my emotion, my inspiration, my idle days. A slight glimpse of disappoinment, could I have expected?
Then off home my feet steps, by the poolside and out again, into the streets and soon in my car and in a way I would drive, as my brother said, a naughty driver I am, off on the road I headed home. The old metal piece which swims, under the flickering lights like those shimmer in the streams. As I had not notice the way in, I ventured out in a way unnoticed. The turns and the curves, driving all alone, I finally got home.
I guess in this post you would not see a clear shadow of him, it is more of my detour than his. But I still somehow missed, the pieces and bits, those nights and my silly dreams.