C'est La Vie

Slit in and out...

Out a pub.

There were words, yes there was feeling, a touch, an understanding, an unvoiced pact.

you're never going to see me again

There was a smile playing across her lips, yes then there was laughter.

--
you can't take this from me

You can't blame me, you won't see me.

Then there was fear, oh the underlying fear, lurking around.

She can't face it.

..

Every time I try to write "was" while I'm texting, my dictionary always makes it "yas". How pathetic is that?

One day, my cell phone dictionary had one of its abnormal tantrums, and it wiped all those words I had painstakingly entered into the dictionary, which mind you, included quite a few commonly used obscenities and well-placed, yet random, words here and there. I had also just put in my Sociology teacher's name in it. Her good name is Yasmeen. But it wasn't in the dictionary any more, and I had to use it (not in an excessively polite context, I assure you) while I was texting my friend the day before my Sociology O Level exam.

Thus the first word I added into my oh-so-recently wiped out cell phone dictionary was YASmeen.

Maybe God wanted to teach me a lesson for referring to her person in an impolite way.

And so every time I write "was" while I'm texting, my dictionary always makes it "yas".

He steals?

*resurfaces from a bout of emoness*

Hello, Wolrd.

As my friend never fails to mention to me almost every morning at 7:30:

 FRANK IERO'S GETTING MARRIED.

In February. Not cool. And yet.

So I'm PROSECUTOR in our Christmas play, in addition to being CANDY. I think I have five lines. That should be fun. Finally, my chance to bedazzle all with my spectacular acting skills.

I should be studying. It's freaking2:45 am, and I have an Eco test.

 

…if I had a cat, like I told everyone (who matters), I would name it Juxtapose.

 

If it wasn’t nebulous.

And sometimes, when I dream, it's of him, and this time, he sees me. He can see me, and him, and what happened. And he sees right through me. Knows who I really am.

He can speak and he does not accuse me. But he knows. And I realise then that he would've been much more. And my helplessness, which I used as a pathetic excuse, it doesn't exist - it's me. I've done this. I didn't look well enough. I knew, and I chose blissful oblivion.

And my dreams, they're always nightmares.