An old post.

"In checkered sarong, you came. You pulled a chair and lit up a cigarette.  You started chatting with my friends, who were once your circle of friends too. I sat there, trying to snap a mental picture for my own keepsake. Not every detail is worth to remember but this night, this one particular night happened, unintentionally. I barely talked to you, I was happier that way. It was a nice feeling knowing that you can talk to my friends like normal again, just as casual as before but this time, we stand on our own feet. Your foot was not resting on mine and my hands were not on your thigh. We were two separate entities. Not that we were ever as one. We barely made it there. Somehow, out of all the nights that we’ve hung out after everything has happened, this night bothers me, a lot. The feeling of normality and conformity suits the atmosphere of the night. I wonder what you were thinking that night. My mind went blank. I needed as much space as I could to store all the memories I could gather that night. I love seeing you with my friends. I feel like I am finally at home, with you."