I'm going to blabber a lot today. Because, to be honest I have nothing much to talk about.
There's this particularly beautiful song by Britney Spears, which I used to listen to during my 'emo' teen years. (Didn't we all have that phase? Yes, no you can't deny it, we all did. Whatever.)
And this is the twentieth blog post I'm starting to write today (currently we are crossing a hundred drafts), and it's probably going to fail me by the time I reach the end of it. But I will try relentlessly.
I tried poetry today, about five times, and it didn't happen. It's scary how sometimes I have a complete command over the English language and sometimes I feel like an absolute dinosaur. Like how did I even think I could speak without roaring like an idiot? No offence to those magnificent creatures.
I'm supposed to be sleeping. The day was long and full of terrors (yes, that's a Game of Thrones reference) and I couldn't close my eyes even for a second. I don't usually write this late into the night, because sleep often gets the better of me and I end up writing nonsense, but I'm writing anyways. See, I don't know what I'm writing anymore?
Let me write about combinations. I think rose petals and white satin make a beautiful combination. So does orange juice and umbrellas. Polka dots and straw hats. Red dresses and black stockings. Strawberry cheesecakes and wine. Why wine? No, I don't know.
I also think castles make good sand. No wait, sand makes good castles. Or sands don't really make proper castles at all. Clouds do. I'm so happy. There's a sense of release when I talk about castles and life and dreams and love. Of building dreams and being in love. All at the same time. It's a magical feeling, unlike many others. Of waking up next to the one you love, and hearing his voice so early in the morning.
I'm half asleep by now, but I see many hour glasses. And what could be perhaps the most random post till date in my writing history. Great. Now I'm going to need to mix sarcasm in too. Maybe I'm stepping into the dream world. I see green meadows, and book shelves and parchment and ink and baskets full of cats. I see flowers, many many types of flowers, and I see origami paper. I see letters in bottles, and crushed paper with sweet notes. I see sketches I drew long back, burning in fire places, and then I see a hand reaching out to save them from being destroyed. That hand isn't mine. Oh, someone cares.
Zedd was saying something about Clarity? No they are all wrong. Nothing is clear. Or maybe it's just the song stuck in my head. I'm a little lost; but the thought of hearing voices for the last time, of the air of finality your departure brought into my life, is a bit too much.
I'm breaking open. I feel it in my bones. The devastation and surprise, but most of all, the pining alcohol racing down to consume me. Burn me. I'm dying a slow and painful death. But I might survive I might just.
Dreams should stop haunting me. Your efforts still haunt me. Stop haunting me. And maybe we can make a sweeter decision than all the rest.
There's this particularly beautiful song by Britney Spears, which I used to listen to during my 'emo' teen years. (Didn't we all have that phase? Yes, no you can't deny it, we all did. Whatever.)
And this is the twentieth blog post I'm starting to write today (currently we are crossing a hundred drafts), and it's probably going to fail me by the time I reach the end of it. But I will try relentlessly.
I tried poetry today, about five times, and it didn't happen. It's scary how sometimes I have a complete command over the English language and sometimes I feel like an absolute dinosaur. Like how did I even think I could speak without roaring like an idiot? No offence to those magnificent creatures.
I'm supposed to be sleeping. The day was long and full of terrors (yes, that's a Game of Thrones reference) and I couldn't close my eyes even for a second. I don't usually write this late into the night, because sleep often gets the better of me and I end up writing nonsense, but I'm writing anyways. See, I don't know what I'm writing anymore?
Let me write about combinations. I think rose petals and white satin make a beautiful combination. So does orange juice and umbrellas. Polka dots and straw hats. Red dresses and black stockings. Strawberry cheesecakes and wine. Why wine? No, I don't know.
I also think castles make good sand. No wait, sand makes good castles. Or sands don't really make proper castles at all. Clouds do. I'm so happy. There's a sense of release when I talk about castles and life and dreams and love. Of building dreams and being in love. All at the same time. It's a magical feeling, unlike many others. Of waking up next to the one you love, and hearing his voice so early in the morning.
I'm half asleep by now, but I see many hour glasses. And what could be perhaps the most random post till date in my writing history. Great. Now I'm going to need to mix sarcasm in too. Maybe I'm stepping into the dream world. I see green meadows, and book shelves and parchment and ink and baskets full of cats. I see flowers, many many types of flowers, and I see origami paper. I see letters in bottles, and crushed paper with sweet notes. I see sketches I drew long back, burning in fire places, and then I see a hand reaching out to save them from being destroyed. That hand isn't mine. Oh, someone cares.
Zedd was saying something about Clarity? No they are all wrong. Nothing is clear. Or maybe it's just the song stuck in my head. I'm a little lost; but the thought of hearing voices for the last time, of the air of finality your departure brought into my life, is a bit too much.
I'm breaking open. I feel it in my bones. The devastation and surprise, but most of all, the pining alcohol racing down to consume me. Burn me. I'm dying a slow and painful death. But I might survive I might just.
Dreams should stop haunting me. Your efforts still haunt me. Stop haunting me. And maybe we can make a sweeter decision than all the rest.
No comments:
Post a Comment