Bloody hell. The blasted stove's busted again. Rrrrgggh! I start knocking my head against the wall. Lightly of course- I'm not that stupid. Finally, I just lean my forehead against the wall and stare at the ground in depression. Well, maybe not exactly depression. Per say. In thought maybe?
Whatever it is, I get to thinking about my rundown apartment and all the rusty little cracks and dusty crannies. If I were perky as usual, I'd probably have given this place a thorough scrubbing. Or maybe just gotten a better place. Come to think of it, what is usual nowadays anyway?
Nothing. Just mundane grime and smog. Just the wooly suffocation of one who doesn't notice the pollution in the very air they breathe. Just semi-consciousness and cloudy days that didn't yield rain for all the relief it would offer to the dry, dry metal and cement of the gray parched city.
Maybe it would be different if I still lived there. A clean place, spacious, luxurious, and rich. A mansion of fine, oiled, polished woods and sheets that were regularly washed and starched. With maids in the formal black and frilly white lace. And him bonded to you, each with a ring at your finger. Of course, neither of you ever wore it. Maybe you should have. Maybe he should have had that constant, to keep him yours. But that doesn't even matter anymore.
Even a cooling evening there would be nice. The breeze rustling the trees, cooling the overly hot climate, with a sky painted in hues of reds, oranges, and yellows melding into blues, violets, and pinks. A freshening scent to the air, crisp and chilled, but not cold. Where even though you were foreign in a bloody foreign country while your lifelong love courted another, you could still be a girl with all you girl friends.
I should get out of here, out of this pit of lint gray, this uncomfortable warmth, and go somewhere with that wonderful, clear aura. But I don't have the means, the strength, the will to move a muscle. Not even to pick up that accursed phone that won't stop ringing. Hey, maybe it's Syaoran calling, and he'll say how he's realized he still loves me, Meilin, and only me, even after all these years and whisk me away into the sunset to live happily ever after. Yeah right. That fantasy died long ago.
Maybe I'll just climb up to the roof tonight and watch the few stars that shine through the reddish haze. Just to see the far off messenger of the better world, where everything feels good and comfortingly edged and white.