Dear XXX,
As 'poppy' as "bad romance" is, it still connected to me in a really really strange way. "You know that I want you, And you know that I need you. I want a bad, bad romance". Nah, don't think that you know. But that's what I want, and need, even if it's a bad romance.
"I want your loving, and I want your revenge". Yes, as silly as this may sound, you can use me to take your revenge, as long you give me the loving feeling. I really don't mind.
I keep thinking of your smile, my sweet disease. You got me at "turn-your-head-and-smile-at-me". If you can't picture that, look. You turned your head and looked at me, not an ordinary kind of way. It was special. It was a moment, the kind of moments that instantly wins a competition. you smiled and that killed. Totally killed it. Your eyes, glossy and dreamy, fenced by those flirtatious pair of lashes, started its quest to haunt me. Signed, sealed, delivered. However, this was not it. You delivered sweetness, amiableness in a setting most would shrivel in. You showcased your personality to the highest degree, and it was a night full of moments that i would never ever forget.
I just want you to know all these, because you deserve it. You deserve all the praises that you get, and you deserve to feel good about yourself. And if one day something brings me closer to you, i may actually say it face-to-face to you, with no ulterior motives whatsoever. Because you made an impact in my life, and my only motive is for you to know that you are deserving of something better, because you're special.
Love,
me.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Thursday, April 22, 2010
A Short Story
Inspired by my previous 2 posts, I'm going to write a short story relating to my life.
~
He downed the shot so mercilessly poured and shoved to him. With the top two buttons of his shirt unbuttoned and his painstakingly styled hair parted at the wrong place by now, he managed to grab hold of a chair and slammed himself down on it. That proved to be the last shot he took, as the dark atmosphere was getting darker and darker in his eyes.
It took 2 burly guys to carry him out of the bar. The guy on the left took him by the waist and put the drunkard's left arm around his shoulder. The other guy did the same with the drunkard's right arm. Walking in tandem, they managed to carry the guy, albeit with some considerable struggle, to a safer and quieter place.
They found themselves beside a small stream, so serene, so sparkling from the lights shone on it by the hundreds of lamps on both sides of it. It felt like a totally different world from the one they had been in a few minutes ago. There was no one else in sight, lest for one skinny guy, dressed up in the latest fashion and in nothing but black, sucking on his cigarette in the distance. Nothing felt more calm than this, especially after being in such a chaotic situation just minutes ago.
This was the kind of place one could think really clearly, and sort out any troubles one had. But for one, it was not as simple as that. The night looked pale as ever to him, the silence sounded so familiar. It's not hard to understand why as he's been listening to his own silence for years. He has bonded with the silence, dangerously close to becoming a synonymous entity to a description. "How could one live a life like I have lived the past few years?", he thought to himself. Involuntarily, a tiny drop of tear fell from his eye, sparkling in the same grandeur as the stream beside. His well of emotions became even fuller and inevitably the tiny drop of tear turned into a little, slow-flowing stream.
A sharp and loud sound of something toppling below him broke his train of thoughts. He jumped from the shock and swiftly wiped away his tears to prevent anyone from finding out what he had just done. He strained his neck over the steps he was sitting on to see what had caused the sound. The skinny guy from afar was now just metres away from him and he looked dazed. The skinny guy had toppled a recycling bin and dislodged the cover of the bin in the process. An acrid odor pierced through the night like a spear and raced into the nostrils of all that were present. The drunkard was still fast asleep. His two friends ironically felt like vomiting more than him. They hastily made their way for home, dragging their drunkard friend along.
~
~
He downed the shot so mercilessly poured and shoved to him. With the top two buttons of his shirt unbuttoned and his painstakingly styled hair parted at the wrong place by now, he managed to grab hold of a chair and slammed himself down on it. That proved to be the last shot he took, as the dark atmosphere was getting darker and darker in his eyes.
It took 2 burly guys to carry him out of the bar. The guy on the left took him by the waist and put the drunkard's left arm around his shoulder. The other guy did the same with the drunkard's right arm. Walking in tandem, they managed to carry the guy, albeit with some considerable struggle, to a safer and quieter place.
They found themselves beside a small stream, so serene, so sparkling from the lights shone on it by the hundreds of lamps on both sides of it. It felt like a totally different world from the one they had been in a few minutes ago. There was no one else in sight, lest for one skinny guy, dressed up in the latest fashion and in nothing but black, sucking on his cigarette in the distance. Nothing felt more calm than this, especially after being in such a chaotic situation just minutes ago.
This was the kind of place one could think really clearly, and sort out any troubles one had. But for one, it was not as simple as that. The night looked pale as ever to him, the silence sounded so familiar. It's not hard to understand why as he's been listening to his own silence for years. He has bonded with the silence, dangerously close to becoming a synonymous entity to a description. "How could one live a life like I have lived the past few years?", he thought to himself. Involuntarily, a tiny drop of tear fell from his eye, sparkling in the same grandeur as the stream beside. His well of emotions became even fuller and inevitably the tiny drop of tear turned into a little, slow-flowing stream.
A sharp and loud sound of something toppling below him broke his train of thoughts. He jumped from the shock and swiftly wiped away his tears to prevent anyone from finding out what he had just done. He strained his neck over the steps he was sitting on to see what had caused the sound. The skinny guy from afar was now just metres away from him and he looked dazed. The skinny guy had toppled a recycling bin and dislodged the cover of the bin in the process. An acrid odor pierced through the night like a spear and raced into the nostrils of all that were present. The drunkard was still fast asleep. His two friends ironically felt like vomiting more than him. They hastily made their way for home, dragging their drunkard friend along.
~
I Actually Wrote This 2
-Solitude-
The author speaks to himself...
The chill wind blew, scattering petals of sakuras round the desolate school. The colourless sky looked like its gonna pour. A tiny figure stood in a corner, not any larger than his confidence. His spirit inside him looked down and out. There was no one beside him. He stood and felt alone. But is he?
Leaning against the grafitti-covered wall, he slumped into a pathetic state. Twirling in the wind, the sakuras completed the postwar-like landscape. Is he thinking too much? Is he trying to hard? So what if there's light on the other side? He don't have anyone to lead him there. He's still waiting for someone to lead him out from the melancholic state he's in. He harboured some hope, but at that very moment a brilliant streak of lightning struck the archaic tree. That's life for you.The author speaks to himself...
I Actually Wrote This
I actually wrote this 5 yrs ago in one of my blog posts. I was a genius! hahaha
The tract that he was in was unreachable. He felt the fear and desolation. Although he was quivering, he remained calm inside. He knew there was nothing he could do, or so he thought, and so this was to be his destiny then. Psyched up and ascertained, he walked towards his accursed fate. Devil was ready to engulf him in his hands. With every step he took, they became heavier. Memories of this cannot be erased by now as the imprints of his feet were moulded deeply into the mossy ground.
All he was to do was to take one last step. His heart was pulsating. In a distant he saw, trees begging him not to do it. Their morning dew, sparkling and all, dripped to the ground. Withered flowers appeared to be disappointed with his determination. If this was not what he wanted, then why do it?
Having second thoughts, he started flustering. Could he defy his destiny? Have he the powers to go against God?
He knew what he had to do. He called upon his inner strength. All he got was voices of his family, friends and relatives ringing in his head. All the encouragement, accompanied by some strong words was all he heard. Then there was, stillness all around. However, the insignificant boost was enough for him. He was enlightened.
From within he started to radiate. The sudden immense glow caught his pupils off guard, blinding him temporary. Regaining his eyesight moments later, he found himself leaning on the wall of the corridor outside his flat.
He was safe, although still a little shaken. He had just performed the highest level of magic, which can be simply called a miracle, albeit being rather insignificant to others.
The author speaks to himself...
-Miracles-
The tract that he was in was unreachable. He felt the fear and desolation. Although he was quivering, he remained calm inside. He knew there was nothing he could do, or so he thought, and so this was to be his destiny then. Psyched up and ascertained, he walked towards his accursed fate. Devil was ready to engulf him in his hands. With every step he took, they became heavier. Memories of this cannot be erased by now as the imprints of his feet were moulded deeply into the mossy ground.
All he was to do was to take one last step. His heart was pulsating. In a distant he saw, trees begging him not to do it. Their morning dew, sparkling and all, dripped to the ground. Withered flowers appeared to be disappointed with his determination. If this was not what he wanted, then why do it?
Having second thoughts, he started flustering. Could he defy his destiny? Have he the powers to go against God?
He knew what he had to do. He called upon his inner strength. All he got was voices of his family, friends and relatives ringing in his head. All the encouragement, accompanied by some strong words was all he heard. Then there was, stillness all around. However, the insignificant boost was enough for him. He was enlightened.
From within he started to radiate. The sudden immense glow caught his pupils off guard, blinding him temporary. Regaining his eyesight moments later, he found himself leaning on the wall of the corridor outside his flat.
He was safe, although still a little shaken. He had just performed the highest level of magic, which can be simply called a miracle, albeit being rather insignificant to others.
The author speaks to himself...