and the air smells of crisp apple cider; and the air smells of crisp apple cider; and the air smells of crisp apple cider; "I mean, I never really understand what he sees, saw, whatever, in me! And here he is, telling me how he has really seen me grow and mature, and me, on the other hand not really understanding how I've grown, if possibly only fatter. But then again, perhaps its just that I've never had anywhere else to project my responsibility?" "AND he thinks I'm going to do great in college because I've got all these bucketloads of experience that no one else really has, and all I'm thinking is, really, 'Thank goodness there are no scholars from overseas if not I'll be in for a huge fight for the scholarships and whatnot!' " Her sentences are punctuated with exclaimations, and I wonder how a self-proclaimed unconfident person can speak with such nonchalent confidence about her supposed lack of confidence. Perhaps she really suffers from a personality disorder? But it wouldn't do to bring that up to her, really. I suddenly register her pause as she breathes in deeply and her eyes flicker, for a moment, to look at me. "But seriously, I love him to death, I just don't see what he sees in me" I raise an eyebrow at her, as I, only half listening to her rantings-turned-musings, persue my own thoughts. "I must have huge self esteem issues, because I really don't really see much in myself, do you?" "hmm," is all I have to offer as she, fortunately, seems as lost in her own thoughts as I am. Labels: writings and the air smells of crisp apple cider; But of course, I never felt that way before, until I met them. They, they were all so seemingly cultured, if culture was measured in monetary forms they would be millionaires, maybe more. And if culturedness was defined by colours they were bright, salient colours that formed the world that was us, while I stood in the background feeling like a dull, pallid colour. Or maybe that was just what I was used to feeling." Labels: writings and the air smells of crisp apple cider; "Well why not?" "You know well why not" now she is forlorn, you can just feel it in her sigh. "We-eell..." I hover around her, not really knowing what to say or do as Effa strokes her back, murmuring a comforting "there, there," as she always does. Oh Effa, always reliable, always there. The atmosphere is tentative- much like watching an acrobat teetering on a tightrope, wondering if she will lose composure and all there is to be had- with us all out of politically correct things to say to someone who has been through this much. Finally, shutting the book nestled in her lap, she stands up. "There's no turning back now, with all that's been said and done," she declares in an oddly firm manner, she being who she is. She seems decidedly indifferent, to say the least, a surprise to both Effa and myself, leaving us wondering if it would be alright to breathe out in relief, if anything at all. Labels: writings and the air smells of crisp apple cider; then again it doesnt hit you like a sharp thud, more like in slow motion, which is also how you crumble and fall, slowly, and the thud of your body on the pavement seems blunt, a soft crumple even. nonetheless, realisation has hit, and you feel it all the same. you stare at her photo - it could be anyone, anyone - and wonder, how, how ever someone years older than you can act years younger than you (or is it just that you dont act or feel your age anymore?). how someone can be so carefree, so innocent, though she has years over you, when all you feel is weighed down by life in itself. tired and weary. sure, you have your brief moments of respite, carefree shrieking, screaming, prancing about. but it never lasts all that long, because deep down inside you feel it, weighing you down, not letting you go. like how all the material possesions of the world will never satisfy you, something many know but fewer yet understand. and it is something you have come to understand, which scares you, but does not blunt the cravings anyhow. - then the phone rings, loud and equally irritating, and you are shaken out of your reverie. back to the world, you sigh. Labels: random musings and the air smells of crisp apple cider; |
- me, today. hit the ground running (accurate as at time of publication) hit the ground running hit the ground running what have we here? hit the ground running |
G♥
has a pink polaroid and no film wanted a pink holga because it was, well, pink believes in non-committalism(i think)(but not really) is still as anti as ever (that's end-without-the-d, tie) starbucks' hot chocolate is pretty good |
Talk is Cheap
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