Monday, August 8, 2011


I impulsively bought a $300 one-way ticket back to Brisbane. I assumed the barbecue for King was going to be held at the usual spot, Southbank, by the river and tucked away into the corner of the park lands.

I dragged my bright blue suitcase over the planks of the small bridge, making a reverberating rattling noise. People looked over, people see me.

I saw them all blink twice, thrice perhaps. People either ran up to me with tears streaming from their eyes or muttered my name under their breaths. It was a bittersweet moment. I hadn't seen them in years but here I was seeing them for the wrong reason. For King.

It seemed all too surreal. People dragged me away to tell me that they knew King held a special soft spot for me. They knew he was my romantic.

I feel empty and lost. But just like hunger and pain are there to motivate, so is loneliness. And the only thing I can think of, is transcending that emotion to its other side. Some of the happiest times I've known is when I've been alone; just me and the sea or me and the sky.

But then that makes me reminisce over those carefree nights, where I'd fall asleep with him next to me, on his rooftop, under the earth's ceiling. That would be my favourite moment with you, King.
His paperwork

Happy Birthday, Peter. You'll have many other birthdays to hinder this one.