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Bitter, as gall straight from a chicken's raw bladder.

Bitter because I know that, come next Saturday and all the Saturdays that I have left in me, I shall await at that station, from 7-9.

Maybe you don't deserve it. Yet it is repeating a sentence I keep hearing from my friends. One that I cannot bring myself to believe, based on my experiences of you.

So I'll wait.

And slowly wither.

Meanwhile, there might cone a time when you might feel tempted to check on that old friend. You might not dare to, because you think a barrage of recrimination will come.

How little you know me. And how well I know you. That's exactly where you are.

And there's no recriminations from me. Should there be any? I leave that for you to answer to yourself.

The real tragedy is that you won't dare to meet the one who waits and keeps waiting for you.

What are you gonna do about it? Maybe unfollow this blog?

It'll stop emitting soon, anyhow.