How does it feel like to walk around aimlessly in the dark looking for a place to hide; to not be seen by any soul, and not finding one?

How does it feel like to want to escape from it all, to want to be the only soul prowling the streets in the dead of the night, with only the blackness as your cover? How does that feel like?

I know that feeling tonight.

I wouldn't stop walking; I must have walked like a crazed woman with a mission and circled the streets around the train station for more than an hour, even though I was supposed to be on my way home. It was, after all, late (at 12am) when I'd alighted the train and I was tired from a long day.

The prancing felt like hours though, because I'd covered so much ground. I'd even walked past the same 24-hr MacDonald's twice.

It's no surprise that, during the entire pilgrimage, my face was drenched in tears.

I wouldn't stop walking until all my tears had completely dried up. They took their time. So did I.

I swear however, that I would have started running on the streets just to get my adrenaline pumping and blood running if I were not wearing my inch-high gold heels. Now I understand why some people like to jog in the wee hours of the night. Not only does it work your body, it's also deeply therapeutic. There's something about the strange calmness of the dark that contrasts with your riotous emotions, that seemingly, has the power to quell it and bring it under control. I looked up at the dark sky and there were no stars tonight. No stars.

The darker the place, the more secure I feel.

There's only one thing I'm ashamed of.

I turned the bus driver away rudely when he stopped (yes, stopped!) the bus in the middle of road, opened the front entrance and asked me to not be upset anymore and to go on home (in case you were wondering, he was driving an empty bus because it was so late at night, all bus services had terminated).

I don't know what I was thinking of then, cross my heart. I must have been so ashamed to be caught crying by a total stranger, and a bus driver at that (no offence to bus drivers), that I absolutely gave him the blow-over when all he did was to worry about my safety and advise me to go on home. I was, at this point, just walking on the asphalt next to the main road, desperately looking for a place where no one can find me.

He must have thought that it was part of his duty to ensure all passengers (even lone, distraught girls) arrive home safely. I was, after all, sitting in the desolated bus interchange for a good twenty minutes just head-bent, sobbing.

God bless his kind soul. Although I'm not sure if it's the same bus driver on both accounts (because I did not look at either of them in the eye), God bless their kind souls.