tonight i shall fall asleep, clutching my dreams to my chest tightly in hopes that he will appear in them again.

and hopefully this time i can actually see his face.

so its kind of obvious that i'm becoming almost desperate. its just. lonely i guess. i blame all those love stories they're feeding us.

满天的云，阴阴凉凉的天气.

she tries to contain the skip in her step as she goes down the streets. it's not that she's particularly happy, it's just that it's automatic. but she tries to contain it all the same because people tend to stare at the girl who isn't quite a girl any longer skipping down the street.

she doesn't like to draw attention to herself.

she's (not skipping) down the street when he appears in front of her, like the magical prince charming mentioned in all the fairytales. except he isn't quite charming, not with his messy hair, unshaved face and ruffled clothes.

he looks wonderful to her all the same.

hello, she says, all prim and proper, the way her momma taught her, how are you today?

he blinks, startled that this girl in the pigtails, a complete stranger, is talking to him but he answers all the same, voice scratchy from not enough water and speech, i think i'm fine, thank you.

she falls in love immediately with his voice and his scruffy appearance and so she strikes up a conversation about the weather and dogs and the stock market. it takes a few misses before she hits gold and it turns out that he's interested in dance.

really? she giggles, her hand to her chest. so am i. (she's never danced in her life. he doesn't need to know that) and she fabricates an elaborate lie about how she hurt her ankle and can never dance again and oh, she has his sympathy and a name to go along with it.

between tsks, he tells her his name and she repeats it on her tongue, delighted at the sound. and she tells him that her name is like the stars because she was named after one, the 7th one in the sky on the day she was born.

(they meet again, this time without the facial hair and the pigtails and the eccentricities and he's not bad looking at all)

deceive.

sometimes i pull myself out of this ever happy bubble and laugh at myself for being so fake. who am i? what am i? am i being true to myself? but what exactly am i?

am i being fake when even my mind believes that this is me?

prose.

they write so beautifully that it makes me want to weep.

and i do want so awfully much to be able to spill pretty words like them but a part of me is almost afraid.

because how twisted must she be to be able to create such morbid situations?

can i really write without it affecting me? i know i am weak, that i am easily influenced by emotions. if i write about sad situations, i know my emotions are going to dip until they match the ones of the characters.

once i almost fell into depression. its odd how you know so clearly that it isn't right to feel so lost all the time but still you can't pull yourself out of it. its long over but i remain happy by living in a bubble, by locking all negative thoughts in a box and pushing it to the back of my head.

i don't want to go back to that scary place. ever.

taste.

name a memory evoked by one of the five senses (taste, touch, sight, hearing, smell)

taste.


my parents come home. mom sweeps me into a hug and kisses my hair. she smells different, all the scents from the airport and the airplanes and the travels seeping into her clothes. i struggle out of her grasp. dad rummages through the luggage and hands me the souvenirs from their trip. there's a variety of colourful trinkets but only one thing catches my eye- a bag filled with sweets of every flavour imaginable. i grab the first one i see and pop it into my mouth. the sweetness attacks my tongue and without warning, it turns bitter. hurrying to the kitchen, i spit the offending sweet out.


that was when i was seven. i still hate passionfruit.

quote.

When I was 5 years old, my mom always told me that happiness was the key to life. When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wrote down “happy.” They told me I didn’t understand the assignment and I told them they didn’t understand life.

-l'Eco di Bru