But then, nothing is wrong either.
I took the day off work, spent the entire day watching TV. I took a few calls, replied to a few mails, that was it. At 5 I had an appointment with an agent to check out a flat.
I'm looking to move out of mine. My friend agreed to come with me. He was stuck in traffic, so we got a little late. We finally got to the place, met with the agent. He walked us to the building, which looked like it was new, but I saw that it was actually a few years old. Met another tenant on the lift and everything.
It was on the 6th floor. Flat 614.
I looked around, wondering if this was going to be my new home.
We stood at the threshold of the house, waiting for the agent to turn the key and open the door.
Except, he couldn't.
The keys didn't work.
I don't know why. The keychain said 614. The keys were supposed to work. Except it didn't.
Agent dude apologized a lot. Asked if we could reschedule for Saturday. I said ok.
But I don't think I'll go.
I don't know... it felt like it was some sorta omen, like I wasn't supposed to live there.
I mean, these things happen to a reason don't they? Or am I putting too much into it?
I don't pretend to understand the workings of this world. Don't understand why things are the way they are. They talk about Karma. They tell you that it's all for the best, it's all meant to be.
When someone breaks your heart, it's supposed to be alright, cos that's just cos it wasn't the right one, cos "someone better" is coming my way.
I don't understand why we need to be hurt now for some promised land of happiness in the future.
My friend, the guy I went with to check out the house. He's a good guy. He married someone he was completely in love with a little over a year ago. Now, he's getting divorced.
He's hurt so bad that he's completely lost faith in all women.
I'd like to console him and tell him that it's not always like that, that he will meet someone again... but I can't bring myself to say that. Cos I don't know do I?
I mean, look at me. What do I know of love? I've been in love twice, and believe you me, it's worse the second time round!
You would think getting your heart ripped out once is hell!
After that, when you finally heal, after what feels like eons of wading through hurt and disbelief and distrust, and meet someone who makes you believe you can finally start trusting again, letting that iron-clad fist over your heart open a teeny little bit, it's happens again.
That's when you realize, that your heart, when it's breaks once, it's ok. But when it breaks twice, that's it. That's one time too many. You stop believing.
So that's where I am now.