the threads in her head

It is that again, of searching for that phrase that had just before been exploring my mind. I have no idea how it slipped off my mind, but it did, like some lone wanderer that had chose to oblige me with his presence but left too soon, without notification in the night, leaving me to only find his absence in the morning.

I ponder long and hard, but only come up with past thoughts. Deciding not to pursure the matter, hoping that it will come just when I least expect it, that nagging absence refused to let go of me.

Rain patters outside my window. I wish I am in a vehicle. I like being in vehicles when it rains, in the passenger's position of course, safe and protected by a great metal hull. I think, when I'm older, when my parents will not question where I'm going to when I stepped out of the door, I would go to the nearest bus-stop when it rains and just take the first bus that comes. Of course, I won't choose a bus that is so crowded no more seats are left for me. That'll be rather silly.

I imagine my whole self as a car. My brain is the controls - and that'll be the steering wheel, accelerator and brakes I guess; I don't know much about cars. All the rest are just various parts of the body. Perhaps, my headlights also act as eyes, since they are in front you know. The wheels are my legs, and the cars my door. The interior is my organs, protected by metal sheets.

The steering wheel slowly comes apart, and I try to peer into the inside, seeing whether the phrase had really left me. My mind doesn't work like that though, so I see nothing really.

But then the phrase comes, taking me up in its hand and shaking me like a doll. "You never asked."

The car, it drives on alone on this very long stretch of road slowly. No other cars in sight. The rain has stopped.

Sitting at home, I drink a mug of bitter coffee. There is no reason to add more sugar into it to make it a more pleasing drink. I wish it would rain again.