Smitten and Crestfallen (The One that Got Away)

Did you ever feel like holding something precious within the grasp of your hand…?

It was so precious, yet it was something you'd already taken for granted.

You were filled with hopes and expectations, were eager to fulfill, were ready to be happy. You were trembling with anticipation, trembling, shaking; your hands were shaking…

Stupid fool, didn’t you know that you were holding a handful of sand?

Didn’t you realize that you were gripping too tightly? That you were shaking too fervently, too eager, and thus the sand started slipping down your fingers…slipping away…slipping steadily like in an hourglass without a bottom bulb. Irreversible.

You were frantic. You clutched even tighter, prayed, pleaded, clasped that precious something close to the beat of your heart. Grim realization dawned that they kept slipping away, scattering, and started embracing the passing wind.

Resignedly, you opened up your palm…lingered the sand grain, remnants of memory short-lived. And you wondered, how did you fuck up?

Summary of the Long Weekend

On the sunny side:

• Completed Final Fantasy XII (never managed to obtain the Zodiac Spear, though) and switched to God of War II;

• Watched 88 Minutes, Déjà Vu, and rewatched three Big Arnie's old flicks;

• Started reading Koontz's Dragon Tears.

On the sticky side, I numbly watched as Drogba ruined our dream of Double. After a rather sluggish, disappointing 50-50 contest for more than 100 minutes or so, I was resigned to a penalty shoot-out to conclude the game. Out of nowhere, a beautifully executed one-two with Lampard allowed Drogba to clip the ball over van der Sar and hence sealed only the fourth FA Cup in Chelsea's history. Couldn't be helped, I guess. I have been procrastinating to post MU's ninth Premiership title to Double the savory victory, but one would have to do.

On to the next season, alors!

Ouch!

Sh*t happens.

Especially when it rains.