out of sort

war off

I wanted a war. I dropped the bomb and started my favorite bustle. I seem to always end up doing this when I feel like so irritated. Find someone to blame, to turn cold on, to emotionally hurt… and the person has always been my bandit. This requires a quotation from Lagwagon:

"I gave you every chance to leave. But you stayed just long enough to bury me…"

I use my ultimate weapon; rusty knife to be stuck in his heart, twisted, and pushed deeper until he bleeds to death. But it doesn’t work. Never works on my bandit. He always survives my homicide attempt. His tranquility beats all.

"It’s your damn fault!"
"Yes, I know."
"You fail us."
"I’m sorry if you feel so, but I do try."
"Bleed! Skin your knees! That’s trying."
"I have, love."
"Try harder."
"Keep being there for me while I try…"

And I would turn off my phone and the light in my room, lie in my bed, immerse myself in Basia’s voice, and cry furiously punching my fist into the air. I lose the war. KALAH TELAK! He wins, fair and square.

My bandit once asked me to post our picture here. I said it would make me not comfortable and feel like my private space in stolen. He went, "OK." (Of course, everything is always OK for him. Conflicts are worth none – while I can still picture it so clear when he almost punched someone in the face just because the guy blocked his way in the jam-packed parking lot.) I replied, "Picture is good if you don’t blatantly show it." Somehow I thought his idea was sissy.  Yes, I know it’s not. I know. I said, I know.

My bandit is full of impossible ideas, at least for me. He sent me CDs with only one song in each of them. Songs that kill. He made my story about us a book, a story that never ends. He bootlegged "The Untamed Heart" for me just to picture what strange loving means. He sent me coffee beans and his worn-out black t-shirt. He successfully baited me out of my cave and trapped me.

He claims himself as a serial killer, a brutal rapist, and I agree.


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