DANYA
The Singaporienne: A Novel

Was it you who spoke the words that things would happen but not to me
Oh things are gonna happen naturally
Oh taking your advice I'm looking on the bright side
And balancing the whole thing
But often times those words get tangled up in lines
And the bright lights turn to night
Until the dawn it brings
Another day to sing about the magic that was you and me

11:08 PM This was how I made sense of the world;
repeating word for word, with stylized narrative and rhetorical interruptions, entire deathbed scenes, or marraige proposals that had occurred a hundred years before. It is not discussed even in covert groups of two, brought together by a long car trip or by insomnia in a late-night kitchen.
Even the most random of events are constantly rehearsed in my mind. The gentle side and the other stern half merging harmoniously with the baritone of conscience and the babble of the sidetracks, and certain ornamental bits, improvised by daring soloists of the mind, eagerly seized upon and elaborated by the chorus, until finally, by group effort, it arrives together at a single song; a song which is then memorized, and sung by the entire company again and again, slowly eroding away at focus and comes to take the place of principle; one single rooted thought.

these one thoughts linger;
but it is definitely fine, because realization hits that this is exactly how i make sense of the world.