The rain has stopped, but still we need shelters from the skies.
the sunlit skies call out my name once more.
lost everytime the sun turns orange.
I have packed my bags once more, but if you whisper my name to the wind, I will tell you where I have drifted off. You can tell me secret, a confession, anything. I'm still all ears.
I have kept pent-up feelings and let it out here, in forms of words and photos and everything else.
I have packed my bags once more, but if you whisper my name to the wind, I will tell you where I have drifted off. You can tell me secret, a confession, anything. I'm still all ears.
I have kept pent-up feelings and let it out here, in forms of words and photos and everything else.
Jul 31
Jul 30
“ Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let the pain make you hate. Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place.
And then the sun kissed the treetops and the buildings goodnight. The lamps opened their silent, quiet flaming eyes and looked at the world moving in the dark.
The world is moving, this photo hasn’t caught the moment in its stillest.
“ Life isn’t about finding yourself.
Life is about creating yourself.
Life is about creating yourself.
— George Bernard Shaw
Jul 29
After the coat is put on and shoes are wiped clean, I step out.
How far to the next memory of distance?
Always I ask myself this whenever I step out of the house and into the routine of looking through papers, scribbling ink on notebooks and my hands, smoking that No. I-do-not-know cigarette on rainy days or sunny afternoons. I still do not have the answer.
An airplane cuts the air above me, and when I go to sleep they still come every midnight, the air singing and making way for their humongous bodies.
Jun 24
I still don't know how to.
I need a cigarette. Real badly. So fucking tired right now.
I wonder when I’ll be flying.
you hide and we'll seek
It’s strange how days can feel like years, the minutes overlapping each other until you don’t remember anything definite at all, like everything has become a strange mish-mash montage of pictures and videos and words and shouts—
I’ve always felt like this, for the longest time.
Then yesterday, with friends, we’d just laid back, smoked cigarettes in the evening and got bored. We played hide-and-seek. Which was strange, being that we were already 19 and 20 year-olds—people started looking at us at one point. We’d ran, screamed, tripped on the ground and laughed some more, a friend laughed so hard that she couldn’t stand up anymore, and it was beautiful.
I suddenly forgot why I was feeling down—that usual unrequited love, the crumbling family, the tired days of writing and writing and forgetting why you wanted to do it anyway—that all disappeared.
And I laughed as I had never before—hard and loud and almost out of breath, clinging to each other and drenched with sweat, the night wind sending a cool breeze on our backs.
We calmed down after a few minutes, got more cigarettes, and walked to the train station home.
I felt like we were all infinite—like we would never end that day.
