the girl
/>
She's the girl who sits and watches while others live a charmed life. The girl loves to write but doesn't know if she's any good at it. She loves rainbow sprinkled ice cream on a rainy day. She loves to take walks with the wind blowing. Giggling should be made a career. She tells you her secrets in not so many words.
in the past
blog pokes
well-known pokes
Sunday, October 26, 2008 4:19 PM
br
I'd like to speak. I'd like to scream it from the roof top of the nearest tall building.
I'd like so much to let it echo and hope you hear it and not react the way I know you most inevitably would.
I'd like to do it before my heart gives up on me.
But I don't.
I'd say it was ironic that it was called 'Id'. Maybe it was no chance.
The almost empty theatre was testament for many things that I wished and could not have. It prodded at that was left to linger in the mind and never brought to action. It would be nice to have more of the red light moments where they drifted into daydream and acted out. But there are none to shine red lights in real life when you need one.
I wanted to go but I didn't. All because the voice in my head insisted on not being an extra load.
Difficult circumstances call for foolproof solutions.
And that is why I'm going to go lighten this heavy heart and be rid of the bitter taste in my mouth with world class chocolate or green tea or rainbow sherbet =)
edit:
There were no answers at the bottom of the cup but there were a couple of smiles =)
I'd like so much to let it echo and hope you hear it and not react the way I know you most inevitably would.
I'd like to do it before my heart gives up on me.
But I don't.
I'd say it was ironic that it was called 'Id'. Maybe it was no chance.
The almost empty theatre was testament for many things that I wished and could not have. It prodded at that was left to linger in the mind and never brought to action. It would be nice to have more of the red light moments where they drifted into daydream and acted out. But there are none to shine red lights in real life when you need one.
I wanted to go but I didn't. All because the voice in my head insisted on not being an extra load.
Difficult circumstances call for foolproof solutions.
And that is why I'm going to go lighten this heavy heart and be rid of the bitter taste in my mouth with world class chocolate or green tea or rainbow sherbet =)
edit:
There were no answers at the bottom of the cup but there were a couple of smiles =) minx wrote at4:19 PM
1 replies
1 replies
Saturday, October 04, 2008 1:39 PM
ctrl+s-igh
That's three times in the span of two days, with the last of which sustaining the most damage. Three may seem like a pretty small number but for each of the three, more hours than I care for is spent repairing, amending, remembering and writing.
The first was greeted with an aimless walk around the home, the second with a prayer giving thanks but the last with warm tears and cries asking for answers. Eight pages of (forced) labor reduced miraculously to seven with huge gaps between texts, chunks of paragraphs encrypted and sentences moved to where they don't belong. Oh, joy.
I have a sneaking suspicion that this machine is the resting place for the soul of a tyrant in the field. So the paper wasn't up to standard, he/she didn't have to kill it, a short note would have done it, really. Whoever postulated that procrastination is a bad thing may want to reconsider going back to the drawing boards to attempt a rewrite.
The very thought of losing more words is one that haunts.
The best words were removed. The ordinary ones are left to stand the test of grading.
ctrl+s, you're a terrible terrifying testing tyrant that makes me recoil in pain and lash out in anger.
The first was greeted with an aimless walk around the home, the second with a prayer giving thanks but the last with warm tears and cries asking for answers. Eight pages of (forced) labor reduced miraculously to seven with huge gaps between texts, chunks of paragraphs encrypted and sentences moved to where they don't belong. Oh, joy.
I have a sneaking suspicion that this machine is the resting place for the soul of a tyrant in the field. So the paper wasn't up to standard, he/she didn't have to kill it, a short note would have done it, really. Whoever postulated that procrastination is a bad thing may want to reconsider going back to the drawing boards to attempt a rewrite.
The very thought of losing more words is one that haunts.
The best words were removed. The ordinary ones are left to stand the test of grading.
ctrl+s, you're a terrible terrifying testing tyrant that makes me recoil in pain and lash out in anger.
minx wrote at1:39 PM
1 replies
1 replies
Wednesday, October 01, 2008 10:27 PM
you scored a great one, don't let go
This doesn't have a name. Either that or I refuse to name it. Although, there are a few things that do have names in my head at this precise moment. Things like awe, jealousy, goodwill, support, and oh, awe (yes, again).
This only reaffirmed what I already knew - that it could never be. The one thing that gets to me is how my eyes still run down the list of names searching. For someone who knows, this is silly.
How do you stop? How do you do it if it's all you've been doing for all this time?
Catching it by the collar and then leaving it at the altar is the most brilliant thing I could have done. And that's what I did. Unfortunate as it may seem, this does not account for the countless times it surfaces. It's persistent and annoying, eventually causing too many whispers to the air.
you don't even know what you do to me.
. . . . .
Average isn't something to paint a banner and throw a party for. It's one thing to know and be unable to have it seem intelligent and quite another to keep bumping into the hard top of the ceiling. What is this, I ask myself. There are too many possibilities for answers. Some that I clearly know and have come to accept and others that feel like an assassination plan on this heart.
This struggle, do you struggle with it too? Oh, bother. Thoughts are troubling little things that bite away at what little space you have of time, pushing as far as it would dare go only to stop midway through, echoing the hysterical laughter it intended from the very beginning.
I pull. I push. But for what and how long? This melancholic tone, this almost pretentious piece of writing; all for what? Some attention? Some display of sympathy? If you know me, you would understand that this would be the last of my intentions. A few know this to be an outlet - not of emotions - for a part of me that I let die at the beginning of the journey for a proper education. Well, that's at least what I let them feed me.
After reading her, it's impossible not to see the talent that she let groom into a potential that could go nowhere except blossom. It's difficult then to sit here and not wonder. Mine in comparison just seems like child's play. Yes, I admit, social comparison is an evil concept.
She's a great one and don't you dare let her go.
This only reaffirmed what I already knew - that it could never be. The one thing that gets to me is how my eyes still run down the list of names searching. For someone who knows, this is silly.
How do you stop? How do you do it if it's all you've been doing for all this time?
Catching it by the collar and then leaving it at the altar is the most brilliant thing I could have done. And that's what I did. Unfortunate as it may seem, this does not account for the countless times it surfaces. It's persistent and annoying, eventually causing too many whispers to the air.
you don't even know what you do to me.
. . . . .
Average isn't something to paint a banner and throw a party for. It's one thing to know and be unable to have it seem intelligent and quite another to keep bumping into the hard top of the ceiling. What is this, I ask myself. There are too many possibilities for answers. Some that I clearly know and have come to accept and others that feel like an assassination plan on this heart.
This struggle, do you struggle with it too? Oh, bother. Thoughts are troubling little things that bite away at what little space you have of time, pushing as far as it would dare go only to stop midway through, echoing the hysterical laughter it intended from the very beginning.
I pull. I push. But for what and how long? This melancholic tone, this almost pretentious piece of writing; all for what? Some attention? Some display of sympathy? If you know me, you would understand that this would be the last of my intentions. A few know this to be an outlet - not of emotions - for a part of me that I let die at the beginning of the journey for a proper education. Well, that's at least what I let them feed me.
After reading her, it's impossible not to see the talent that she let groom into a potential that could go nowhere except blossom. It's difficult then to sit here and not wonder. Mine in comparison just seems like child's play. Yes, I admit, social comparison is an evil concept.
She's a great one and don't you dare let her go.
minx wrote at10:27 PM