Rendezvous
31 March 06 : 03.44 AM
Duke Ellington and Alain de Botton, I don't know how well the two of them go, but they're making my night.
Attending Economics lecture for the first time since a long time, I was hoping to learn something because the lecturer was starting on a new topic. After a while, Desiree took out a foolscap and wrote her "life plan" and I wrote "ten good reasons to lose weight", and I couldn't think of any good reasons after the second one. I wrote somewhere on the paper, "ditch fat penguins" and drew a little penguin by the side, and Desiree added the word "gay" between fat and penguin, and drew a handbag (sorry des, it really just looks like paper bag) for the little penguin. I really need to frame that piece of paper up, it's a classic.
It's a friday night and tonight I'm home reading instead. I got caught in the rain on the way home but refused to take a cab. When you're not hiding from the rain, the rain is an amazing companion, falling over your shoulders and down your neck, rich in symbolism of the cleansing of mind and body. A raindrop fell on the cusp of my eye, where you first feel tears form, and that single raindrop left a trail down my cheek as teardrops do. My uniform was soaked through, and my white blouse was almost translucent. I liked the way my feet feels in wet shoes, but I walked faster anyway.
If you hear a song in blue, like a flower crying for the dew, that was my heart serenading you
Last night, Heidi and I headed for the gym, and went for coffee and dinner before I went home and she went to meet her friends. I saw Emily the animal (inside joke, really) but she turned away pretending she wasn't herself. I waited for the non-airconditioned bus because the night was chilly and my fingers were already stiff. I can't explain the air last night-- it was dewy and crisp, and I probably don't notice this very much because I'm always indoors and refrigerated. There was a girl on the bus who was telling the person she was on the phone with how she hated sleeping at her boyfriend's place. A boy across me, probably my age, after some kind of late, exacting, sports practice, almost dozing off. A lady with badly dyed hair, getting ready to get off at every stop, but always returning to her seat. A construction labourer carrying his plastic bag full of groceries; the plastic stretched so thin I could see he bought coffee mixes and instant noodles. This is the living.
If you hear a song that grows from my tender sentimental woes, that was my heart trying to compose...
Sometimes when Ann comes home from school, she'll scream, "Global warming!" In the evening, before the sun sets, I hear the halting of school buses and the euphonious burst of kids' laughter. I hate afternoons because I can never seem to get anything done, and I just want to sleep the sun away. And there's a photographer in my mind that never truly leaves, and I've only seen him once on the bridge so long ago yet I still want to see through his lenses.
How my love song gently cries for the tenderness within your eyes
This is the epitaph for love.
And isn't death just a cue for one to acknowledge a rebirth?
This is my Prelude to a Kiss.