i cut my hair short, like the last time last yr in uni:
something quite the same to this..
i am thinking the pixie:
or if i must have a pony tail then please can i have something like this:
yes i know he’s a man, a very beautiful man i must add, and yes, he’s cantonese and all things wonderfully nasty, but we have to admit, he is very cool.
comments on the hair please! vote away guys!
she sat, perched on the backless stool, feet dangling off the ground. a sterile environment in an unsanitary room– daylight curtains whip up in a dance with the breeze, the sound of the twigs of the trees that gently taps on the window panes, her tulips sit pretty, their faces reaching and aching for her attention, the solitatary candle that fights to live.
her thoughts sit quietly uncoagulated, hush hush, so quiet that it becomes a raging deafening siren, its silent screaming mouth contorted in pain, and open so wide one can see the full length of its throat. slightly–blink and you’ll miss it– she tips her head closer to the surface of the silvery mist. a little closer, a bit more.
she angles. and a random thought hits her. do i want to know? and before she answers herself, like Alice in her beautiful blue gown and white apron, she very often give herself very good advice, and she very seldom follows it– her nose reaches the brink where the ripples form, and instantly she is surrounded by the white fog,and falling head first into a spiral, the dark, the bright, the abyss, the eden of the pensieve.
“i love you princess”
he leans in, kisses her hair, and whispers oh-so-quiet as she sleeps, and gathers her close. heart to heart, cheek to cheek that warm sunday tumbles into the crazy dreamy sleep– the haze that one can’t quite shake off, can’t quite rise above. when she blinks awake, she sees his sleeping form, face like an angel still wearing his specs, shakes off the smouldering blanket–and it hits her, the intensity of emotion that drags a soul to the blessed heights of Orion. she reaches for his hand, and finding it already tucked in hers, tumbles back into sleep.
and tumbles again.
“then be it. be mine.”
he holds her close, running his hands down her back, frantic to stop the cascading tears, a sudden onslaught, her tourniquet snaps. wide eyed, poised for a blow, she snaps her head around and glares at him. and tries to wiggle out of his clutch, she buckles, shaking off his hold–only to find herself pinned down by the weight of emotions he lavishes on her. he held precious still-beating heart in his eyes, pulsating with love and life. her own heart tripped over itself, and rode a little heart-carosel, but she couldn’t reach out and take it, she didnt. because she had nothing to exchange it with.
“you’ve always been the one i care most about”
they walked through the streets, hands occasionally brushing, he stops abruptly, takes the bags she was dragging behind her and lifts them like a feather. at the big screen they stop and laugh at something they both can’t remember now. he smells faintly of his shower, and grass. and is always warm. never cool, never cold. warm. everything about him smells of manly warmth. he reaches up, removes the tie that holds her hair in place, and ruffles it. she leans in, and thinks the world will crumble to dust one day, but he will hold up the sky for me. with him, she felt always secure, always protected. her guardian, her warrior– he guards her heart fiercely, not even daring to touch it for his own.
“you and me, we have a strange language that only you and i seem to understand”
every friday at 3 she boards the train in excitement. her uniform always in a disarray, she is frantically trying to tie her hair into a pony tail, when the train gives its beep signaling her destination. she knew he would be waiting for her, just like he said he would. a little dance in her steps she races to the top of the stairs, then sweeping a look behind her, pretends to be looking at her book, and nonchalant. she spots him, but pretends not to see as her folds and refolds the stack of papers he holds –every day he sits in the classroom, frantically scrawling on scraps paper for this moment that he can pass it to her. he in his white and blues, she in her blue and greys. they attract attention as they walk, and settle down in that familiar smell, which till this day reminds her of him, listen to the radio, eat at crumbs. he pulls out a half eaten pack of m&ms, and hands it to her. her heart gives a little gasp as she sees how he left her all the green ones.
“if love means to want to spend my waking moments with you then i love you”
she opens her locker, and there it sits, beautifully cacooned in pot purri, the angel sleeps in her nest of green, some pot purri gets displaced from the bed as she whipped open the locker and they fall to the ground at her feet. hand-crafted, he claims, and made with you in mind. seeing the joy on her face, and the little dance her feet did, he reaches for her hand, and together they walk into the drizzle, not minding the wet, absorbed in the conversation and the look in the other’s eyes.
“i want more than this. i won’t settle for anything less”
on this night she leans in and nestles in the hollow under his chin, wriggling, searching for warmth. he lays his hand on her thigh-bum, and half asleep he murmurs words, joint-up incoherent babble and pats his hand, just as he knows would bring her comfort even on restless nights. and quiet she slips into sleep, secured, held and knowing he’d be right here through the night and in the morning when she wakes.
gently, she tips back her head, and the world comes spinning back into focus, the buzzing dies out, and before her sits the gleaming sheen of silvery white. too many ghosts for a day. too many places revisited.
she realises now the rains have come and gone, she missed it all, but the smell lingers in the air. feeling scrapped raw, and yet at peace, frantic and yet numb. i guess this feeling’s called bittersweet.
today from 2 pm to 5pm i resolve to do some work, and i resolve to only do work during this designated time. i will not talk about work or think about work or deal with work stuff until 2pm. and it will stop promptly at 5 pm.
anyway, under the bikerman’s suggestion, i went out yesterday specificially in search of a particular book, called the EARTHSEA series. i know its been made into a movie and all. i have never really been a fan of fantasy, actually close friends who know my reading habits will tell you i really don’t enjoy the genre ( i remember shopping with rabbit actually more like for rabbit for some crazy 12 book series). anyway, the bikerman says i should give it a try, there is no genre to like or dislike simply because i haven’t read them all. o_O. as in its not right to throw a blanket over fantasy because of one or two live-tree experiences. because there are some that are really good.
anyway. i think this one is quite fun, it wraps itself with magic as an ancient language spoken by dragons. to control something you need to know its ancient name. wish me luck, here i go.
this half pint, half life i spend on the edge of you
too many seconds too late, and too many minutes too early
(i miss you, though there is nothing to miss, we haven’t been apart)
infusing the senses, like the croak of frogs in the woods,
resounding, reverberating in my head
like the memory, of being spun around
and held onto like it’d never end.
(that catches in my throat)
its late, and the pea and i just came back from a 3 hour, yes 3 hour dinner with the bikerman and bikerchick (his aunt & uncle). he’s a retired english teacher (more like professor) and she’s a sweet little lady, and we’ve had the most wonderful conversation ranging from religion to art to literature to science to harry potter.
yet, this night i am unsettled, tonight seems like a somewhat funny night, something off in the air, a sense of forbodding. i should just go to bed, this instant, and forget the funny world.
an acquaintance of mine, who hardly crosses my mind, left an angsty break up post on her blog, which left me pretty blown away. the raw emotion, her lovely use of language, nothing profane, angry but certainly poetic, and touchingly poignant.
at times like these i remember my own in june 07, and realise i’ve come a long way from there, a long long way, and i can only be thankful for the strong hands that have propped me up.