we drove into the horizon, you and me
the road seasoned and broken
tar cracks and lines that are no longer distinct
the air crackled with static
of the radio of you and me
we fought for breath, for life
for those molecues of poison air
that filled our skins
and tattooed across our fingertips
the road rolled along
no junctions up ahead
only the long road to nowhere
and yet everywhere that we want to go
you and me
123 kilometers towards the horizon
i close my eyes
(and you’re gone).
can everyone’s who’s linking me update their links pls.
the rain does wonders.
today was a pretty good day,
hanging at p&b after months..
one half of my fairy godlovers
and the other someone i start counting
[zow wee! i got 133 hits 2 days ago.
how come i don’t have 133 comments??]
maybe it’s because i had a relatively early night,
i feel like i’m walking on sunshine today.
a thousand yellow daisies.
bright light, and a little skip in my step.
no reason. no reason at all.
isn’t that great?
you think i’ve forgotten, i haven’t.
and everytime i see you i’m reminded of the scar
your knife left in my back.
dont be silly, it wasnt because you were my friend–
it was because for nearly half a year
you made someone dear to me believe i was something
you didn’t understand– you didnt understand me, or the dynamics,
or the history, or the players in the game.
and you stuck your stupid fat little nose in
and acted like you were the queen of the frickin world.
i dont care for your scrunched-face smiles.
turn your face somewhere else.
a little walk down memory lane
skipping on the copper-coloured cobble stones
a dance, a trip, a bruised knee
hand in hand and racing pulses.
those nights that we’d sit in the car
these dreams in my head
of new york in pinstripped trench coats
of manhattan with a cosmopolitan in hand
of new delhi with slippers and white linen suits
of beijing wearing mufflers on our ears and fruits on sticks
of australia riding the surf and having ice-cold beer
of mexico and food that makes your eyes water and hats too big
of krabi with bikinis and mojitos
of maldives and reefs and lounging
of westminister abbey with books in bags and oogling eyes
of paris and side walk cafes and mussel soups
but for now, wanderlust.
and vicarious decadant living.
new page, new home, new beginings.