All I can do is to write to reach you. Afterall, they're all words. They will someday fade to their original form of non-existence. But I will wait for mountains to tell me you're okay. On paper my future will lay, and I'll fold every failure into cranes.
I'm not incomplete, I'm just not perfectly complete.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
Potato got me alcoholic Black Forest from Island Creamery and BK got me a pink rose!
I think the lack of food has been causing the bad headache. It's 1:41am, the morning starts at 5am, camping the next 3 days and 2 nights, and I'm not even changed. It doesn't help that my bed is not fit for sleeping on tonight. A roach tried its luck across it and there's no way I'm going to set my body on it, regardless of how shagged I am.
Camp madness in April and May, as it was in March. All the best to you, Cheryl Lio.
Headache headache, please go away, poor little me has to catch up on rest.
I think the lack of food has been causing the bad headache. It's 1:41am, the morning starts at 5am, camping the next 3 days and 2 nights, and I'm not even changed. It doesn't help that my bed is not fit for sleeping on tonight. A roach tried its luck across it and there's no way I'm going to set my body on it, regardless of how shagged I am.
Camp madness in April and May, as it was in March. All the best to you, Cheryl Lio.
Headache headache, please go away, poor little me has to catch up on rest.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Monday, March 31, 2008
My resolutions until June!
- Yong's photoshoot next two weeks
- Clinch the job at the speech and drama company
- Genting trip
- Attend weekly masses (at least)
- Finish doing the April camps at CHA
- Join AK
- EPT test on April 7th
- Rejuvenate and hibernate myself with sleep thereafter
- Meet the poly gang
- Reward and pamper myself with the LGKS20
- Have one hell of a 21st birthday bash (!!!)
I can't wait to restart my life over and over again.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
I want you between me and the feeling I get when I miss you
But everything here is telling me I should be fine
So why is it so, above as below,
That I'm missing you every time
I got used to you whispering things to me into the evening
We followed the sun and its colours and left this world
It seems to me that I'm definitely
Hearing the best that I've heard
So throw me a rope to hold me in place
Show me a clock for counting my days down
Cause everything's easier when you're beside me
Come back and find me
Cause I feel alone
And whenever you go it's like holding my breath underwater
I have to admit that I kind of like it when I do
Oh but I've got to be unconditionally
Unafraid of my days without you
Whenever I'm falling you're always behind me
Come back and find me
Cause everything's easier when you're beside me
Come back and find me
Cause I feel alone
But everything here is telling me I should be fine
So why is it so, above as below,
That I'm missing you every time
I got used to you whispering things to me into the evening
We followed the sun and its colours and left this world
It seems to me that I'm definitely
Hearing the best that I've heard
So throw me a rope to hold me in place
Show me a clock for counting my days down
Cause everything's easier when you're beside me
Come back and find me
Cause I feel alone
And whenever you go it's like holding my breath underwater
I have to admit that I kind of like it when I do
Oh but I've got to be unconditionally
Unafraid of my days without you
Whenever I'm falling you're always behind me
Come back and find me
Cause everything's easier when you're beside me
Come back and find me
Cause I feel alone
Friday, March 28, 2008
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Cheer up, Potato. I'll keep you in my prayers tonight, along with every other night. No matter what, know that I'm here for you (you know I am). Come tomorrow, smile like this!
Cheer up, Sixties. Thank you for the muffins (and for fattening me up the past weeks). I'm sorry I landed you into hot soup with supper and late nights. Hope this cheers you up a little, at least.
Cheer up, Sixties. Thank you for the muffins (and for fattening me up the past weeks). I'm sorry I landed you into hot soup with supper and late nights. Hope this cheers you up a little, at least.
Monday, March 24, 2008
WIth the company of an acoustical playlist, leftover nicotine rations from yesterday, a good read awaiting its opening and mummy dearest humming to the tracks spinning on my most wonderful desktop computer, life paints a breathing irony.
These days, I fall flat on my face just to await godsents adjourning me up back into place. Idle moments like this are passed taking strolls down memory lane. Nostalgia is such beautiful melancholy. It grows and ticks in me with blooming life. I know I tend to get too pensive and wordy about memories, but with every song, movie, picture, scene, person, instills an engraved footprint somewhere along my past 21 years. Sometimes, I wish I could be more elaborate with indites pertaining to memories in this written playground of mine. I wish I wouldn't be so hard on myself for being literal. Each time a phrase of literal rambles is being typed, it'd be backspaced just as soon. It's a hurdle I could never take a hop over and this is how my muse is signatured mine. I used to composite pretty and metaphoric prose and poems but reality has fatigued my words into an endless plain of complaints and rants. The skies of blue and clouds of white, bright blessed days and dark sacred nights indeed make this a wonderful world. Yet, at joy, a rush of sorrow always surges through the apple jammed at my throat and time after time, as boxed up my emotions may be, I relent to them. Like any other, like all others, I am fragile, vulnerable, weak and I am capable of crumbling. It's a condition of a type of handicap. It's a loss of control and ability to retrieve inner stability. It has to start from myself, isn't it?
Marion, if only words would suffice, if only words could reach the heavens, if only the Lord could use me and my meticulous carve of words to bring you back, if only you were here to help me through this tide of confusion. If only there were more photographs of you to be placed on my walls, if only you were here to take more with me. Everything stops at fifteen, everything stopped at fifteen. If only I could fear less so I could love more freely. It's not a prayer I send up to you, it's conversations I hold with you and God at the simultaneously, it's prayers I send up to the Big Man for you. And it's little moments such as this I spend wishing I was fifteen. This is the shape of my heart for you. I miss you.
Am I mad? Have we all lost our minds? I think there's more to this than what I'm saying but I can't seem to find the best words to summarise this.
This is the reason why I should never have time to myself to dwell. Dwelling gets evil when I'm at it.
I didn't check my punctuation, grammar, spelling and what not, so don't get there.
These days, I fall flat on my face just to await godsents adjourning me up back into place. Idle moments like this are passed taking strolls down memory lane. Nostalgia is such beautiful melancholy. It grows and ticks in me with blooming life. I know I tend to get too pensive and wordy about memories, but with every song, movie, picture, scene, person, instills an engraved footprint somewhere along my past 21 years. Sometimes, I wish I could be more elaborate with indites pertaining to memories in this written playground of mine. I wish I wouldn't be so hard on myself for being literal. Each time a phrase of literal rambles is being typed, it'd be backspaced just as soon. It's a hurdle I could never take a hop over and this is how my muse is signatured mine. I used to composite pretty and metaphoric prose and poems but reality has fatigued my words into an endless plain of complaints and rants. The skies of blue and clouds of white, bright blessed days and dark sacred nights indeed make this a wonderful world. Yet, at joy, a rush of sorrow always surges through the apple jammed at my throat and time after time, as boxed up my emotions may be, I relent to them. Like any other, like all others, I am fragile, vulnerable, weak and I am capable of crumbling. It's a condition of a type of handicap. It's a loss of control and ability to retrieve inner stability. It has to start from myself, isn't it?
Marion, if only words would suffice, if only words could reach the heavens, if only the Lord could use me and my meticulous carve of words to bring you back, if only you were here to help me through this tide of confusion. If only there were more photographs of you to be placed on my walls, if only you were here to take more with me. Everything stops at fifteen, everything stopped at fifteen. If only I could fear less so I could love more freely. It's not a prayer I send up to you, it's conversations I hold with you and God at the simultaneously, it's prayers I send up to the Big Man for you. And it's little moments such as this I spend wishing I was fifteen. This is the shape of my heart for you. I miss you.
Am I mad? Have we all lost our minds? I think there's more to this than what I'm saying but I can't seem to find the best words to summarise this.
This is the reason why I should never have time to myself to dwell. Dwelling gets evil when I'm at it.
I didn't check my punctuation, grammar, spelling and what not, so don't get there.
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