so what?
Leave the phenomenal world and enter the sublime . . .
about me
ELSA
Real name: Haha, you should know, if you don't, you don't know me well enough and you have stumbled on a stranger's blog...okok, its Tay Hu iling
Age: Born in 87!
School: SCGS, that will forever remain MY school, MY alma mater. NJC is just a temporary holding place, I will get out of it soon. (Newsflash: I have gotten out of NJC. Now in SMU)
CCA: Softball! WOOHOO! My favourite game . . .
Hobbies: Go online, reading books, sports . . and sulking here. . .daydreaming about hot babes
Fave artists: Madonna, Coldplay, Alizee, Bjork, U2
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All Les
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Saturday, May 26, 2012
6 days.
That was all we had. To walk the dream in our head, for real. Now I'm back and trying to load my tiniest moments with matter and distraction. To squeeze and block out the thoughts. It's empty pockets of time I fear the most. It's the hour before I sleep, the minutes when I tuck myself into bed, that I fear the most. And all I see when I close my eyes is your eyes, your smile, your hair. The curve of your cheeks, the innocence on your face as you sleep, and that amazing green when you look straight at me.
God, why can't I have the things that I want? Even if it's just for 6 days.
What I would give to turn back the clock and will an alternate reality. What I would give if I had gone earlier, and not drag it out so long for time and space to do their dirty rot.
I can't just turn off the heart. Not after all these words, and letters, and thoughts shared. Not after falling for the soul not the body. Even when you try to show me your ugliest photos, all I see is how beautiful you are. And now you have to die to me for us to be friends again.
I don't know if I can be ready by September, if I'll be truly platonically numb by then.
The mathematician knows the odds were staggering. The chance of success less than 5%. But faith pins hope on a tightrope and pray to the heavens that movie-endings can be real. But you knew all along that the story would have it's end. But, reflection with a microscope brings melancholic findings. All these errors, and faults, irreversible and unavoidable anyway, given my nature. Given my jinxed histories. This inability to sustain, any sort of interest from anyone.
I wish for once, that I was the hurt. Not the hurting. Most of all, I wish you were still mine.
elsa | 12:54 AM
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