A pause in the air.
As it turns out, my instincts have been gravely wrong all this time. Like a malfunctioning smoke alarm, it beeps annoyingly at unspecified intervals, screams like a witch just as you are about to retire to bed, and does absolutely nothing even when you wave your burnt microwaved dinner under it.
Because for a long while, all was well. Everything seemed to be falling nicely into place – the right words were coming at the right time, untimely delays were turning out to be blessings in disguise. There was simply no reason for them not to. The lucky streak was unstoppable.
I was unstoppable.
I had confidence oozing through my veins; I had every right to be taking charge of the reins.
But all these have been for nought; I am left in shambles regardless. For this is almost fifteen months of hard work flushed down the drain.
I thought I was missing just that one piece of the puzzle to complete the picture. It did come in that perfect size and fit and colour, but once assembled, something – or in this case, nothing – actually happened. I was expecting my first and only pristine masterpiece of the century; instead, all I got in return was an ugly blot of ink smeared to eternity.
So. The subtle, quiet laws of attraction; those tell-tale signs that let you know that things are happening the way they should – these are all bullshit. I must have run out of luck and fortitude midway through, or lost my magic potion of ten gold coins true.
Now I am completely ruined, stubbornly in denial right to the very end. I suspect I must have made quite a spectacularly sore sight: blue skies overhead and around, a very sorry gooey something on the ground.
Next up, I just need to get rid of that ticket I had bought on a whim for a night at the Ally Pally. It may well have been the stupidest thing I have ever done, but then again, I should probably keep it close to heart to remind me of what it once was, and what it could have been.
I don’t wanna get over you.