Rendezvous
28 September 10 : 11.53 PM
I wish I had spent more time documenting the smallest things. Because it's the smallest things I always forget.
I read back these entries, and I can't help but think how I can fill the gaps the pages leave. It's strange, it's as if I don't exist where these pages end. Maybe, it's true, to some extent.
If only there's a way for me document the way the dewy leaves smell, those nights my loveoflife and I walk past the railway. Or the semi-quietude of the evenings spent at his house. Or the way the children sound, laughing and screaming, with their thick foreign accents.
Even the way Laurel speaks- because with everyday she's sounding less and less like the baby she's supposed to be. Or the precise moment we realise Blake understands us, like today, when I told him, go lie down and drink your milk, he does it, without seemingly acknowledging whatever I said.
But if there's one thing I don't want to note, is the aging of my parents I somehow (fortunately) don't sense, although I know it's happening all the time. These are changes I don't want to see, don't want to think about, I don't want to be reminded of their mortality.
Can't help but feel that time's going too fast all of a sudden.