Love, Poetry, & Coffee

~ 42 ~

"So this is where you live?" Sarah glances around the apartment with an awe expression. "It looks so cozy and nice," She clasps both her hands together as the excitement in her eyes fills in the whole atmosphere.

The last reaction I expected from her was this, I was expecting to be a bit appreciative. Well, at least she's appreciative, but her excitement it too much. I mean, there's nothing special about this apartment I'm currently living in. It's just a normal studio apartment, no beautiful view in the windows, no special features, just a regular apartment. People may say the design is minimalistic, but that's enough for me. I don't need to flaunt every luxurious thing I can find, all I want is a place where I can do my basic needs. Luckily, I'll be staying in this apartment forever without worrying about moving out anytime soon. The landlord is nice enough to let people stay however long they want, as long as they pay the bi-monthly rent. The rent ain't even that expensive, so it's quite doable for me to stay in here forever.

"Thanks, don't mind the mess." And when I say mess, I mean the random papers all around the floor.

I hear her chuckle softly once she notices the pieces of papers lying on the ground, "That's just some papers, we can just pick it up and put it somewhere else." She begins to crouch down on the floor to pick the pieces of paper, but of course, like a natural instinct of a human person, she turns the paper around to see what's on it. After she realizes what she's reading, a soft gasp of air releases from her lips. "Ain't is the story draft you've talked about?" She lifts up the piece of paper away from her face and turns it around for me to see what's on it.

As I read the draft, I've been thinking about on how she still remembers me telling her that. Part of me was thinking that she'll forget about it since it's just an unedited draft. The rawest version of the final novel idea I'm currently working on. "Yeah, don't mind the errors in that one," My hand flies straight to the nape of my neck to rub it anxiously. "Just place it somewhere on the desk there, it wouldn't mind."

Another chuckle escapes her mouth as she slowly places down the pieces of paper on the coffee table near the sofa. "Do you usually keep your drafts around?"

I can feel a smile forming on my face, "Only for the sake of checking how far my progress I've gone." That's only half the truth, which I'm comfortable on spilling it to her. The other half has something to do with me forgetting the original plot line of what I'm currently writing. I usually write down the stuff that suddenly fade in to my mind without realizing that it have strayed away from the original plot.

Basically, my writing is like my train of thought. It sometimes goes into a detour and slowly makes it way back to the original track. But there are times when that train got hijacked by something and begin to overthink everything I've ever done. I shrug that problem away, since the hijacking only lasted for like a day or so. My thought process will be back as soon as I take a break from writing and chill down for a while. There's nothing for me to worry about the future, since I'm taking care of my mental health. And there's definitely no need to worry about the consequences of me not able to fix that overthinking issue.

***

I usually don't understand the term "history repeats itself" until now. Although there's a slight difference, when I say slight, I mean that the papers increases in quantity than before. Is this one of those core memories that my brain decided to play to remind me of the past? If so, that's quite annoying, if not, I have myself to blame for remembering the past. I swear, I promised myself that I won't go down the spiral staircase to mental unstable state. And yet, here I am, cleaning the mess my burn-out state got me. At least I have an extremely excited companion beside me.