truth is, days like these are hard to come by.
days like these, im not sure whether to be horribly irked, or wondrously happy.
you know, when u mix concoctions?
of how orange or grape juice goes sweetly well with milk, but apple just goes ewww?
a hogwash, a completely unknown mixture, sometimes sweet, sometimes sour and wrong.
you never know what the next drink tastes.
thats the yummy and fun part, as much as it is excruciating.
Many pieces of love are unknown, yet unhidden.
yet I was limited in my means.
to have taken greater detail, to recognise immediately, a backfire.
Innocence, i accepted. blame, i rejected. pain, i remembered.
I spoke to him. he wore a porcelain mask with two slits, slits narrow enough to let in light on his eyes, slits wide enough like windows into his sorrow.
across the hardened surface, there was soft flesh.
through the stoic smile, there was twisted agony.
how did u interpret that smile?
a song scribbled on the table seemed familiar
最爱你的人是我,
你怎么舍得我难过,
在我最需要你的时候
没有一句话就走.
最爱你的人是我,
你怎么舍得我难过,
对你付出了这么多
你却没有感动过.
i began singing, unknowingly.
was i reminded of him, his callous attitude?
No, he was a shadow, a dark cast.
He hated the way reality had treated him.
Then, he was a light, a bright mark.
He who loved with his open heart.
That one persistence, coupled with his own foolishness.
Created much love, as much as it did to hate.
I'd wish to tell him, so he could tell others,
that there is no perceived light.
for without darkness, no light can brighten a place
without cold, no heat will give its warmth.
without hate, love maybe at its best, a blank neutral state.
Perhaps, the most beautiful may not be at its absolute,
for there is really no black or white to exist,
but a myraid, a palette, a greyscale.
Open those grey wings.
For they are beautiful, black in its daylight, white in the night.
i laughed, laughed at his theories of a debacle.
what am i doing, sitting in front of the mirror?
Labels: memory
