a cloudy forecast

The corridors, hallways, open-air spaces outside this building, the shuttlebus, even the MRT—they all have become constricting, restricting places.
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If only it didn’t happen, this would not be how my life’s turned out to be. I would’av enjoyed my coffee breaks more without thinking of running into you. Or bumping into you as I line up at the canteen in the mornings for breakfast.
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If only the family’s been a little more closer, then I wouldn’t just have you as my ate here. I would’av gotten an entire horde of kuyas as well; instead of just us meeting accidentally by the hallway, or bumping into each other at the elevators, acting it out like we’re both busy, as to say a little nod will suffice . Last time I saw you, you didn’t even nod in my direction.
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I really miss you, you know that? At the shuttlebus I yearn for that closeness, the warm smile coming from you. Sometimes I imagine I’ve just fallen into some bad dream; but I’m just deluding myself. Passing the stairwell brings back memories of our batcave days. the MRT’s become some sort of a hide and seek game we play each night.