It's weird. I sit here waiting for the dawn. I just saw it off Grey's Anatomy, "Why do I keep hitting myself with a hammer?...because it feels sooo good when I'm not". I like the sound of it. It reminds me why do I torture myself with taking 3 majors in the first year of a real university (not some crappy pre-U tuition-like college) in a foreign country, living off with no friends using my second language as a mean of communication. No friends. Unless you count my sister.
Except you can't, at least not now, because she is off fishing in some cold place. So, it's just me. Alone. With no possitive human contact. It's just the internet, television, some nice books, some not so nice book, some really bad books, some old thick library books, a bed, a kitchen with so much food that it can last me throught World War Three if it happens now and me. Sounds like crap eh. My first holiday in Christchurch.
So what if the dawn appears now. I don't know... It seems like it doesn't matter so much to me anymore. Not like when I was back home. Like how it matters to me that the little yellow flowers flood the fronts of the house, and only our house after the rain. It only mattered because it made daddy smiled and force me to go out and take some pictures with him. So what if the dawn appears now. It doesn't matter... not like it did when I was looking down waiting for the light behind his curtain to light up.
What if it rains... There is no more sound of the basketball bouncing in the court. In fact, there is not even a court. What if it rains... I don't get to drive you guys home in my car. Because the car...it is sold now. So what if I cry... I don't have your arms to fall back to... Because I am here. What if I am sad... I don't get to see Joshua and forget about the whole big mass of mess. So if we see new moves on the TV, we don't dance anymore.
I miss home. I miss you. Perhaps I should not look back so much if it makes me sad, but how can I not when I can only find my home and see familiar faces looking back.
Then I realise... when I understand that, I don't need bad times to help me recognise the good ones.
Buckets of misses,