Tuesday, November 24, 2009

i can't help but think why perhaps it just isn't going to be.

i can't help but think about the difference.

all my hopes and fears come rushing back at once.

is it that hard?

maybe of all people i should know the best.

retrospection at its finest.

i need to escape somewhere and drown myself in indie splendour. walk into a quiet shop, full of trinkets, things we don't see anywhere else. things that were carefully pieced by loving hands, and thrust unto shelves and into boxes, so that others might have the chance to appreciate them too. and the people wouldn't be intrusive, but just going about their own business. they'd be knowing, that we were all in our quiet little worlds, not wanting to be interrupted, just wanting to savour a piece of our own minds, quietly while we could. somewhere down the road then there'd be a quaint little cafe with a lady and her homemade bread, and she'd invite us to sit on her wooden chairs. we'd sip some iced tea, enjoy the peace, the quiet, watch the buildings age invisibly but surely, the occasional passerby just like us finding his own place amongst this beautiful and tidy mess. and everything in sepia, in black and white, in grayscale, and the colours are missing but that's okay because i won't need them anyway. just some nostalgia, some reminiscence, and some time away from loud noises and cars and smog and all that junk. in that charming place we'd sit and watch the sun set, and when the people have long gone and the the only sounds left are the winds yearning for company, we'd finally grab our bags and begin our slow and unwilling walk back. but our thoughts and our memories would still be left, where the ice is melting at the bottom of the glass, and our names carved into the wood of the table.

and maybe if im lucky, there'd be you in all of this.

by Dan 1:25 AM

---