Newspapers-

The child closed the door, and ran to the cupboard. He opened it, sweeping his mop of messy black hair aside as he surveyed the things in the cupboard, hands on his waist. With a soft joyful cry, he pulled out a stack of newspapers, and carried them a few at a time to the window, placing them one on top of the other. A pause as he stopped to think, and he ran back to the pile, got to his knees and started pushing the whole pile to the window. And as they formed a small little stack, he stood back to admire his handiwork.

Gingerly, he placed one small foot onto the stack, and by means of the window grilles, hoisted himself up so that he had both feet planted firmly on the stack. It wobbled a little and he gazed down tentatively at it. But a cool wind caressed his cheek and he turned his face to the window. And oh oh, what a view.

He looked at the velvety black sky, with the stars scattered out among it like diamonds, so sparkly they were. Hmm? What was that he heard? Did someone say "toy"?

"I repeat, Charles Benjamin Wheeler. My heart IS not a TOY!" his mother shrieked.

Oh.

He looked wistfully at the sky, but clambered down clumsily, threw a towel over the newspaper, and climbed onto the bed. Switching off the lights, he did his night prayer, and snuggled into the blanket.

The ceiling swirled with shadows, but he had long ago learnt not to go running to his parents with fears of monsters. He shut his eyes tight, stifled the urge to let the tears fall.

It'll be ok tomorrow. His parents will bring him out to play tomorrow. And they'll have fun. His dad will push him at the swings, his mom would catch him as he slide down the slide. They'll pick seashells together and laugh as they throw it back into the sea. He'll be allowed to keep those lovely pieces of glass washed smooth by the sea. They'll smile together at the sunset. There'll be lots of hugs and kisses.

It'll be ok tomorrow.

It had to be.

At first it was as usual. Hands slung over knee. Music blaring in his ears. A calm demeanour on the outside, eyes gazing ahead, but oh oh, in a spilt second, the music,it was almost too much for him to bear. Swirling around him with its crescendo, it was so focused, so real. That lively passion in the music, oh, he could quiver, quiver at the way it was running through him, pulling him in.

This strange foreign joy. He could keep still, nonchalant on the outside, but the inside, the inside, it was brimming full of the sweetest - the season of spring flowing through him. Such freshness, such vibrancy.

He bathed himself in it. The music flowed on. At times, he would try to remember certain parts of the tune. But he could never grasped it. But sweet it was, like being able to touch the cloud and find that it's really fluffy and soft, better than all you imagined. And you could just lie in it, get oneself comfortable.

It was being away from the realms of reality.

He closed his eyes.

lullaby of a witch that draws me to sleep-

Listen. Do you hear the witch's call?

No. Don't perk your ears up for it. Lie down. Breathe. Close your eyes. And listen.

I am caught. Snared by it. The song of the witch lulls me on. It's sending shivers down my spine, but I have no need to run. It's my friend.

In a trance, walk on. Would you like to follow me? Let's go see the witch. She's very beautiful. Do you know that? She's so heart-achingly beautiful...

Let's go on.

We've reached. Can you see her? No... relax. Here, sit against this stone. Now close your eyes. Hum. Let that lullaby flow through you, going through you in its raw form. Don't try to control it. Let it flow and ebb through you. It will never overtake you. Now open your eyes slowly.

I can't get to her. There she is, right in front of me, but I can't get to her. Every step I take takes me closer, but I can never get to her. See that tear on her cheek? I wish to wipe it away from her. But everytime I try, she looks at me and reply, "it's alright."

I grope in the air, searching for a word that will correctly describe the substance of my feelings, but I can't. I search in my heart, but it refuses to reveal.

Her wings are not that of angels. Neither are they of devils.

I've fallen deep deep into her charm. Stuck like a fish in her fishbowl. The sight of her, always there in front of me, but I can never get to her. Yet there she is, right in front of me, absent-mindedly pouring food out for me.

In the most senseless of things, one manages to find more sense in other matters.

It's best if you go now.

I've lost my appetite again. And feel giddy. And everything.

Words that seems to be said only for the sake of being said. Words uttered to seek acceptance/forgiveness?
But of what use is an apology if it is not even certain whether the person uttering that word knows what he did wrong, how he had hurt the person? "Sorry if I did anything to make you angry." Anything?

A tangled maze of confusion.

One can deceive oneself. And when the art is mastered so that it becomes truth for that person...

What was I saying?

You know only half of the story. I know fully and it gives me headaches. A jungle of emotions, heartaches, desires, thoughts.

May I be allowed to rest in a mild soothing numbness again? And leaning towards you to hear what you say, replying before sinking back? It's so comfortable, so peaceful. And I don't have to think about other stuff then, just listening.

It has really been a pleasant memory.

But isn't it funny too? I yearn for a sense of security when I know the Lord is already protecting me. I desire a listening ear when the Lord is ever ready to listen to me. I long for human embrace when the Lord has me in his arms. I'm feel as if I'm straying from him yet he's still looking out for me.

Look at the world through rain-splattered lens.
Keep your mouth sealed.
Because I am just oh-so gullible.

I had to hear it from you.

Run with all your might, your strength, your heart, your will. Legs stretch out, head tucked down. Feel that blood rushing, feel your heart beating, JUMP!

Run onto the grass. Get your slopes slippery. Back onto the main track; run with the fear of slipping and twisting something. Continue running. Run and warn the others!! “He’s coming, he’s coming. RUNN”

Run and make a sudden turn onto the road. Crouch down behind the bushes. Pant. Hear the freezer scream out. Hear the pattering of feet. Hear the shrieks, hear the laugher.

Peek from behind the bushes. See no one and run again! No silly, not back there. Take a different route girl. Run through the blocks. See no one and dash out. Run AGAIN!

Put your hands on your knee while you rest for a while. Jog a little on the spot. Get SIGHTED! RUN RUN RUN!

Dodge and run. Avoid the grass because of the fear of slipping. Uh oh, seriously inconvenient. DODGE!

Run down and get caught. Laugh. Scream for help? Nah. I’ve damaged my throat enough. Chair nearby, let’s go lie down!

Close your eyes and hear the beating of your heart. Thump thump thump. Breathe.

I have never been goal-orientated and thus never buck up motivation to go run for practice.

But today running was good... even though I performed badly.

Trust so fragile.
"And I trusted you."

A light promise, so you say. But I, I have broken my word to you. Doing the very thing that has made me upset.

In a moment of folly, of weak will and cunning ideas, I have fallen to temptation, gave in. Curiosity killed that cat.

Betrayal. At first glance it sounds like a harsh word, but one knows it's true.

A moment of carelessness? No! I had it all planned out.

To think I even brought faith in.

Idealist (NF)

You are a passionate, caring, and unique person.
You are good at expressing yourself and sharing your ideals.

You are the most compassionate of all types and connect with others easily.
Your heart tends to rule you. You can't make decisions without considering feelings.

You seek out other empathetic people to befriend.
Truth and authenticity matters in your friendships.

In love, you give everything you have to relationships. You fall in love easily.

At work, you crave personal expression and meaning in your career.

With others, you communicate well. You can spend all night talking with someone.

As far as your looks go, you've likely taken the time to develop your own personal style.

On weekends, you like to be with others. Charity work is also a favorite pastime of yours.

Eh....

It is not raining.

Neither is the sun shining.

Night has fallen.

Stars scattered out among the velvety black like diamonds? I wish, but it’s the lights of the flats out beyond that twinkle, and not the stars.

I just saw a very beautiful belt - sleek, smooth with that shiny metal clasp. No, it’s not a highly reflective shine. More like this soft tender shine to it. Tender. So that’s how metal can be described to me – tender.

A cool dull metal described as tender. What images does that provoke in your mind?

Somehow, I crave to be outside now, taking pictures.

A kind of wildness in me has awoken. It stretches out lazily and yawns. And then it’s prowling around. Exploring its surroundings? Perhaps.

It’s me.

I want to go out at night. Sit somewhere high where I can see the stars. Look across the waters. I want a camera beside me, and I can take various photographs, from strange unique angles. Capture life in its fleeting moment. Of a bird flying across the sky. Of leaves swaying in the breeze. A cat slinking away. A leaf floating slowly down.

And how about a deserted road? Look at it, with the streetlights shining down on it. Imagine sitting down there – either with no fear of cars coming, or with trepidation that a car might come.

A few more years perhaps, and that might happen. I can wait, I can.

But such romantic ideals are often shattered in reality’s wake.

And I wonder, so what if they happen? What would they be, with no one to share it with?

Many moments were special, memorable, because someone else was also there.

And many moments, I was bursting with something to share. And there was no one to share it with. I don't know my neighbours. None are near my age anyway. Either very old, or very young. It's been a long time since I called a friend just to chat. I don't think I even have numbers of my friends in the first place now.

The moment does fade.

And people forget when they are not reminded.

Definition of rain:
a. Water condensed from atmospheric vapor and falling in drops.
b. A fall of such water; a rainstorm.
c. The descent of such water.
d. Rainy weather.
e. Rains A rainy season.

“You lied to me.”
“Dear, it’s nothing really. I didn’t want you to be agitated you know.”
“You lied to me.”

The rain continued falling, drumming onto the ground. Wet and cold. But she didn’t care. She stood there, enjoying the feeling of how the rain hit her and ran off, how it nearly numbed her from everything, washing away her consciousness. That is, nearly.

Her boyfriend of one year stood before her, looking at her. His hair dyed an outrageous light blue; the jewellery he worn had only one intention, to shock. Spiked-bracelet, gothic-like dark clothing. She had accepted it all, tolerated it all.

And all this time, her boyfriend has actually been taking drugs. When he promised her he would stop. And he had constantly lied to her for money, to get his kick. Oh, her friends had tried to convince her alright. But she thought it was impossible for her boyfriend to lie to her, ignored all the obvious hints screaming at her for attention. That glazed look in his eyes, his fever. How could she have ignored such obvious signs?

She smiled to herself in the rain. Her boyfriend looked at her, a sign of obvious relief in his eyes. She started laughing. He laughed with her, a trace of confusion in his actions. His laugher sounded fake. Hollow. She abruptly stopped, as she realised that she had not been ignoring the signs. She just refused to believe it. And day after day, she had reasoned for him. She glanced at her boyfriend. He was still laughing, but a slow nervous laugh.

“You don’t even know what the joke is, do you?” she asked, acting casual.

How her heart pained, when she had gone to the joint he frequented so often, only to see him, with his so-called pals, getting high. She gave a slight shiver as he remembered the look in their eyes, that look of such hollow highness. Gazing at the notepaper in her hands, that little note that was slipped under her door, asking her to visit the bar, she contemplated about hating herself or whoever it was who slipped the note under the door. For her eyes has been opened to the truth. And she could never face anyone, never be able to face herself, if she denied the truth and let it slide.

“Oh baby, I didn’t know the joke, but you were laughing so happily. I just had to laugh too.”

At any other times, with any other person, she would have believed the other party was laughing with me because of the ‘joy’ evident in my face. But taking a step back in her mind, she realised how far they had drifted apart. Why, were they even close in the first place?

It was not joy in her face, but sorrow. It was this inane sorrow which made her laugh, laughing at her own absurdity and silliness. And it was obvious that he was lying, with his fingers fingering the edge of his jacket. He always did that when he lied. His mom told her once.

His jacket was the one she gave him for Christmas. That black smooth leather biker jacket. Rain was streaming down gently down it, like little snakes glinting black and silver. At other places, little rain droplets glistened. Almost like pearls. The pearl bracelet he gave to her.

“We’ve got to break up.”
“What?!” Shock was evident in his eyes. “But you love me. Baby, just forgive me this once. For our love?”
“It’s been once too many. Love is not mindlessly tolerating and denying the facts. I won’t be able to face myself anymore if I continue on with you. And… I’m not sorry. It’s over. Goodbye.”
The rain continued falling. Silver snakes and little droplets merged together to form puddles. And ripples grew wider and wider before disappearing.

Definition of rain:
The droplets of water that once affected a girl’s life, awoke her to sense, and acted as a witness to the decision she had made. And rain droplets continue to drop from her hair, down into puddles, forming ripples that ebbed out like a wave.

Ha well. I feel weird. Imagine actually having stuff to do at 11 plus at night. No, not the, I need to find stuff and found it kind of stuff. But needed necessary stuff.

Yes, I'm packing my bag at 11 plus for the volleyball chalet tomorrow. Oh, I rock. Absolutely. Though I guess it could be worse and more last minute if I say.. pack it tomorrow morning?

I think girls have a harder time packing their bags then boys then. I mean, our undergarments! You can't imagine how hard it is not to squash them too hard in a bag (especially when it's not a luggage bag or I don't know.. messenger bag? but backpack).

I'm packing for only like.. three days two nights and I'm using two backpack (ok, I admit one of them is my school bag.), a shoebag, and a sleeping bag. Wow-ow. Maybe I should ask my mom go buy me a 'decent' bag, because it's so 'indecent' with four such bags.

Funny though. Thurs afternoon meet the team, Friday morning go back to school, Saturday afternoon leave. There's not much time for fun!

To save space, I brought the minimum number of clothes possible. Three sets plus my uniform. If it's that bad, I just re-wear one anyway.

I ditched the idea of bringing a book. Sigh. Might bring pen and paper, if there's even space after more packing tomorrow.

It's fun. Just messy.

But I am also looking to lazy days where I can just be online, read and have a good rest at night. Hopefully I would have days like that. Hopefully.

You've never seen the sparkle in my eyes when I smile.
You've never heard laugher escape from my lips.
You don't know my amazement at the first reading, and the laugher that falls out with subsequent reading.
Well. I spelt subsequent right on my first try. =)

Define laugh if you would please, as "a series of spontaneous, usually unarticulated sounds often accompanied by corresponding facial and bodily movements." Then I would have rarely laughed. How could I? It's online, my family would think I'm crazy if I laughed out loud. Besides, you ain't that funny yet. =P Oh yes, it has happened before though, when I would laughed out freely because I couldn't help myself. Cup and sock eh?

But I smiled and felt better. But I've got to say... I think my laugher is rusty. Kidding!

Thing is, you never knew, yet you still try to make me feel better, to smile, to laugh. And that makes me really happy.

What's there to conclude about gladness?

I'm suddenly quite stunned.

Maybe I should NOT have chosen literature.

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart: the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand,
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight; somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

THE SECOND COMING
by W B Yeats

I read it halfway, and I'm lost.

Have you ever been trapped in a look?

Where you wished to understand the swirling thoughts lying behind the eyes, but can't seem to fathom its flow.

But can you get trapped in writing?

I write. I put effort into it. I try to express things the best way I know how. I use adjectives; I use metaphors, to show the quality of it. I nearly put my whole heart into it at times, a giddiness that overwhelms me for a moment, but slowly become this gentle ebb and flow that washes through me. It’s a moment where I feel senseless yet all my senses are tingling. But if no one understands, I don’t want to write anymore.

For what’s the use?

I write to spill. Yes. That’s what I do. I admit it now. I write to spill. Spill all my thoughts, throw it out there, flung it out.

I seek attention. I crave for attention. Call me a loser, call me what you will. I take comfort in knowing at least I don’t fabricate.

I’m not really a child anymore, yet I still act like one.

Sleep evades me. And my eyes are dry, though I want to cry.

Lie there on your back and feel time pass. Empty your thoughts, so much until you’re floating. But no, consciousness remains, it refuses to go, it refuses to go, it refuses to go! My rising panic; conscious thoughts of time rush into my mind and refuse to let me go.

Only fatigue saves me.

Cruel irony of the world, to make it so that it hurts too much when I run, so I can’t exhaust my whole self for sound sleep.

My own weak will, and thus I fall to the temptation of short little breaks – naps.

You seek comfort in the wrong places.

I know. Nobody’s going to understand fully too after all right? Words are just metaphors in the end.
~
I like this piece better than that insane "Maria" thing. I'll probably delete Maria soon, but who knows? I might go edit it instead. Gay Guide will be deleted for sure though.

Sick.
Silk.
Sill.
Sell.
Well.

Life.
Live.
Love.

Pine.
Tine.
Time.

It's raining.

It's a beautiful rain.

And it doesn't matter.

Gutsy-

Hiiiii! My name is Maria. Seriously, I don't like this name much. The sophisticated way of calling it is so... well, sophisticated. And the normal way of calling it is rather maid-sy.

But I don't mind that much I guess. It's fun! And I've accquired this Filipino accent. Well... it is rather fake, and rather lousy too. But it sure is great to make people laugh.

People like to throw things at me. Noo no. Not tomatoes and rotten eggs etc. But soft things. Pencil cases? Yep. They like to aim it at me. It's mainly to provoke me really, to make me scream. I scream out all kind of stuff. "Mummyyyy... it's over!!" "HWA CHONG!" Hee.

I'm tall, so I attract a lot of attention. They say if I go to America, there would be people who are as tall as me, and my height is just normal there. But I'm thinking if I really do go there, my looks would be different too. And my english is not articulated too accurately - english is after all a second language for me in a sense, I didn't really pick it up until I started attending pre-school.

Of course, I can go China, after all, there's tall people there too. But I don't pronounce chinese too accurately. Was never taught to focus on such stuff from young. It's ok at times, bad at others. This China guy once commented on my chinese, "how come it's so good all of a sudden." Oh well. We did have a good laugh over it though.

Last Saturday, I won a pandan leaf plant. Or whatever it is called.. I'm not too sure. They were asking questions, and poor them! No one was answering. Erm, I didn't know they were giving out a plant as a prize though. So they pointed to me and my friend and I shouted out the answer, and they went, "please come up to stage to collect your pandan leaf." Horror! Shock! Bah. I did go up though. Short people, tsk tsk. Haha.

Thankfully, my teacher was there too, and I passed it to him, and he promised to give it to another teacher. Whewww. I wished my mom would let me grow a plant or keep a pet though. Problem is, she throws a fit over such stuff. Sigh. There's no life at all in my house when only I am left in the house.

Oh hey, I do have to go now. See ya.


Does it seem like a different writing style? 41 minutes spent on it. Hmm.

Pining is a feeling of deep longing. It's archaic meaning is to mourn or grieve. Thus, it has this nostalgic element to it.

To cry is to relieve stress, to vent out your feelings, to let the tears flow, fall down. It is a form of coping.

Fatigue is a state of loss of strength and energy from hard work in all kind of aspects. There is a desire to rest, to sleep.

A loser is me. For now.

A side of me you'll never see.
The edge of what I can't conceive
Angels sing with their harps
Devils cry with their forks
Joy against sorrow.
Peace against pain.
Boiling down to nothing.
Nought, none, nil.

Hey. So I'm sarcastic.

Live with it.

Or get lost if you can't.

And I have a bad temper.
And I think too much.
And I like to pull pranks.
I hardly think about other's want of privacy.
I'm mean.
I'm petty

What the heck are you still doing here really. Just freaking get lost.

To that sweetness-

I am happy today because you were here, though far, but at least there. The world is not necessarily more beautiful in reality because of you, but I do jump down the stairs in joy, smiling (er, at school that is). A silly childish action yes, but I am happy I guess.

It is nice to know you are there. Nice. I do not seek for a better word, for I think you understand what this simple word means.

The reason for this sudden (seemingly) post? Well.. I think I just want you to know I appreciate you.

Now now, don't be too smug!

Insomnia!

I can't believe I'm suffering from that. Woots. Yay. I'm suffering from insomnia and I'm loving it. And that's meant to be sarcastic in case you didn't know, fool.

http://www.well.com/user/mick/insomnia/

I'm going to try sleeping on my back and haha, maybe stomach rub. Pity I don't know where's north in my house... yet. If I do I would try that sleeping with your head face north tip.

But oh man... no reading before bed? Er.. that's one I haven't heard before.

THIS is something I never thought I could feel.

人生如戏。果真！看了过后，想笑！太太多讽刺了...HAhaha. 有时真的无法忍受。
要我怎么说，你才会信？
我还不是一样无能...
想说，又不知如何说。
让我放下心中所爱的吧
毁掉我心里的偶像...

Leave-

Just go. Leave, leave me alone to face it all by my own. Leave me alone to the conflict of my soul. Go, for a memory of one so broken need not be in your mind. I'll face the music by myself.

Keep the best memory of me that you have, and never think about me with bittersweet thoughts, where you contrast my smile with my look of wretchedness. Run away, far from here so you will have no need to lay your eyes on what is, now, a shell of the previous. Flee, so you will never know the look in my eyes, and be haunted by that.

It's not an act of cowardice, so have no fear about that. For I have pleaded with you to do so, to the near brink of insanity, and there was no other way for you. There was only one choice.

Slowly, I'm getting tired. But here's one last request - do not look back. Do not waver. Run and remember that you were fulfilling my wish.

My quiz result for a quiz titled "What's your perfect workout"-

Flying down the road on two wheels, wind in your hair, bugs in your teeth — that's your idea of an enjoyable workout! (Well, you might want to skip that last part...) Ever since you got your first shiny Schwinn, you've known the magical pull of riding a bike.

Now that you're an adult, you probably opt for your car over a bike for getting around town. But when you're in need of a stress-busting, heart-pounding adventure that doubles as high-quality exercise, you know what to do. You enjoy exploring the outdoors, whizzing farther than you could go on foot and getting a closer look at the scenery than you could from a car window. And if the weather's against you, you're willing to roll on an indoor exercise bike to get your heart rate up and your legs (and lungs) pumping.

When you're out riding the roads, be sure to carry a spare tire (in a bike bag — not around your waist!), wear a helmet, and obey all street laws. And no matter where you ride, drink plenty of water and cool down when you're through. Get rolling at least three times a week, and your body and mind will thank you for it!

I DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO RIDE A BIKE!

Sheesh.

Edit: On 27/10/2005, indeed I could not ride a bike. But on the 5th of Dec, I am glad to say I finally can ride a bike.

And I do love it.

-Serenity

She curled her hand up into a fist, and rammed it into the wall. The pain nearly caught her off-guard, so shocked she was she nearly stopped. Nearly. She rammed it one more time straight in, and a dull thud filled her ears. For a moment she stood still, allowing the sound to fill out around her, seeing it reverberating around the room. She replayed the sound again and again in her mind, and then she crashed her knuckles into the wall again.

Argh. It was fruitless anyway. She flopped back onto her bed and stared at the ceiling above her. Was this growing up? Ha!

The stuffiness of the room made her sweat. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the sweat trickling down her brow. The slow descent it made before dripped onto her bed. Sucking in air, she puffed out her cheeks.

A tune started in her head. She hummed it out.

Hush now, my baby
Be still love, don't cry
Sleep like you're rocked by the stream
Sleep and remember
My lullaby
And I'll be with you when you dream

Drift on a river
That flows through my arms
Drift as I'm singing to you
I see you smiling
So peaceful and calm
And holding you, I'm smiling, too
Here in my arms
Safe from all harm
Holding you, I'm smiling, too

Hush now, my baby
Be still, love, don't cry
Sleep like you're rocked by the stream
Sleep and remember this river lullaby
And I'll be with you when you dream
I'll be with you when you dream

-River Lullaby "Prince of Egypt Soundtrack"

I'm feeling relatively calm.

As it is-

She looked out of the window and wondered whether there was a way to escape reality. Her line of vision turned to her bed, and she realised there was. But oh, what an wimpish action.

But would it hurt to just lie there for a few minutes and drift away to surrealism, she wondered.

NO. The thought rushed through her mind, tearing through her body. She had to get out now, before temptation led her further on and cause her even greater pain. Grabbing her jacket from the chair, she rushed out. The lifts could not come soon enough, she could not wait, and there she was running down the stairs.

But no, she was not out yet. There was still a long long way to go. She nearly turned back to glanced at the stairs, but steeled herself, took in a deep breath of air before dashing off. Away Away! But it seemed like she could never run far enough. The temptation bubbled.

But stilling herself, she curbed it. Closing her eyes, she sensed it was not as strong. And she breathed in deeply. But where was she? Why, an alley of shops, full of little trinkets, all beckoning out to her with their gaily-coloured signs. "Come come". They did not hide their calls. Whistles, shouts. She heard laugher.

She joined in.

She smiled at the sunlight, she smiled at the stars. She chuckled over the moon. She did antics, she did tricks. She heard the loud laugher of others. Oooo, she tickled their funny bones.

The sun's shining brighter and longer. The starlight is somehow slowly fading...

In plain words, code exists.

Starlight is at its more beautiful at night only. That's when they shine the brightest. I would like to think that the reason they're small yet plentiful is because they last only a little while, and then another star is given to continue it. More can appear to be brighter, but they still last for that same amount of time.

Subtlety? Perhaps perhaps perhaps.

I'll stop now though. There's no reason for me to continue.

"I thought you were a bit arrogant and unapproachable."

It is interesting how different people have different views of one person.

"I don't like your specs. They make you look so fierce when you're actually friendly"

Me friendly? Oh. I see.

"Your voice sounds like a woodwind instrument when you hum. An oboe perhaps?"

Oh haha. No comments. I think the next comment will be more true.

"CAN YOU STOP HUMMING!"

Hmm. Perhaps perhaps perhaps.

Oh those girls are ten a plenty,
You’ve got so much more
You’ve got, you’ve got
You’ve got a wonderful personality!
What does that wispy little brat have that you don’t have double?
She can’t hold a candle to the beauty of your smile.

How about a pulse?

Overrated by a mile!
Overvalued!
Overblown!
If he only knew the you that we know!

*sigh*

And that silly little creature isn’t wearing his ring!
And she doesn’t play piano,
Or dance
Or sing
No she doesn’t compare

But she still breathes air!

Who cares?
Unimportant
Overrated
Overblown
If only he could see how special you can be
If he only knew the you that we know!

If I touch a burning candle I can feel no pain
If you cut me with a knife it's still the same
And I know her heart is beating and I know that I am dead
Yet the pain here that I feel, try and tell me it's not real
And it seems that I still have a tear to shed

The sole redeeming feature from that little creature is that she’s alive
Overrated!
Overblown!
Everybody knows that that’s just a temporary state
Which is cured very quickly when we meet our fate
Who cares?
Unimportant
Overrated
Overblown
If only he could see how special you can be
If he only knew the you that we know!

If I touch a burning candle I can feel no pain
In the ice or in the sun its all the same
Yet I feel my heart is aching
Though it doesn’t beat it's breaking
And the pain here that I feel
Try and tell me it's not real
I know that I am dead
Yet it seems that I still have some tears to shed
-Corpse Bride

Untitled-
You'll only find comfort when you ask for it. How silly it is to stop asking.

The silence of the night, it fills the surroundings. Not in an uncomfortable way. No. It fills it up nicely, like a warm blanket on a cold night. That's how right it feels.

It's a good time for thoughts. A time where you can just snuggle into the corner of your sofa and think. In fact, the lateness does not matter - one is fully awake. There's no sleepiness muffling and blurring the thoughts. The thoughts feel right, coming up and forming abstract patterns and shapes before dissolving into other shapes.

There's no word to describe those shapes. A word has not been found for them yet. It is better this way somehow.

But where are those who care enough to listen to those thoughts that one would like others to know?

It does not matter? I'm not so sure.

Maybe it really does not matter.

Idiocy still finds one though as one starts thinking about words to express the thoughts. Choosing the right words, seeing how they fit together - composing.

The silence of the night.

I would like to be at my cousins' house now. With the story of ghost trapped in the little figurine, the clips at the windows, the piano in the living room, the mini hair saloon in the kitchen, the master bedroom in which a sense of adventure seems to prevail, the guys' bedroom which seems forever sleepy, the girls' cum stranger bedroom, the small library with the computer. The silhouette of the school outside the window. The quiet road.

Silence has its own touching melody.

Put your hand to your heart. The beats of life.

And maybe, I'll really hear a melody when I close my eyes. Maybe it'll be a melody of the harmonica, though I've just about forgotten how it sounds like.

I should not have described my cousins' house. One often feels disappointed when it's never really up to expectations. Memories can deceive. They were formed at a different time, with a different you.

Every second one changes as new thoughts spring up to tweak you a little.

Go think of rainbows and fields of green green grass

Or the blue blue sky and a little lemon tree

I guess I'm smiling

Update: I guess I might as well not spoil the day

"Promises mean everything when you're little
And the world's so big"

Promises mean everything when you're big
And the world seems so cramped with filth

I'd rather read a book by:
-Michael Crichton
-John Grisham
-J. K. Rowling
-Stephen King
-I'd rather burn my eyes out with a hot poker.

Obviously the 5th option is out. But the other 4.. er. You mean I'm expected to make a choice? Forget the idea man.

The Runaway Jury by John Grisham. Finished reading it today hee. Seemed a little predictable when I started at first, that or I was just trying to prove that I can stop reading halfway and then continue reading again for a span of roughly 5 days to prove that comment "don't start it unless you are prepared to stay up all night" comment wrong. Or exams were seriously wrecking my brain. Quite a good plot I would say, because though a little unbelievable in certain areas, it was quite sustainable. Nice twist to it close to the end. Bah, I should have expected the twist though, but was already too taken in by the words of Grisham. Wonder how many else didn't expect the twist too. Hmm.

I prefer The Client to the The Runaway Jury though. Probably because The Runaway Jury seemed very plot-focused. The Client was the same too I guess, but it somehow wasn't that obvious to me.

But I think The Silent Cry by Anne Perry was the best of them three. Really excellent plot, and I think it was quite suspenseful. And one VERY good twist.

One reason why I would not be able to become a writer - I'm not good at thinking up those really brilliant plots.

Well.. a girl can still read. Maybe I should stop writing though.

Lay your cards out if you dare-

The Little Prince is a very captivating story. I don't remember when I first read it, but I know fully well that I didn't understand the story at all then. And then I have read it a second time again, but I only seemed to discover some parts that I have not seemed to read before. But I'm sure I had read the whole book before and it struck me as strange why I could not recall reading certain parts.

And I also can't remember when was the second time I read it. Or whether I have read it anymore times.

Imagine picking the book up again yesterday to read, only to realise you don't remember the story again! You remember about the elephant inside a viper, and it not being a hat. But it is as though that was a first time reading it. And was it really a rose? There was a recount of him visiting the rest of the planets? He tamed a fox before?

I seem to understand the story better this time too.

It is enchanting.

Taming. I seemed to have tamed a cat. That or the cat has tamed me. And I don't know whether that's good or bad. That cat travels to meet me. I know. Its fur was wet.

And whenever I go board the bus it tries to stop me by running in front of me.

I accidentally kicked it once before when it first did that. Running in front of me to stop me.

It continued coming.

The holidays shall come soon, and I shall not go to that bus-stop for a while. When I do go back, will it still be there?

Sigh.