I think about you sometimes
Sometimes often
Sometimes occasionally
Sometimes, surprisingly
What was
What happened
What might have been
And I think Beyonce said it right:
You're The Best Thing I Never Had
Monday, July 09, 2012
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Excellent manicurist at Nails Garden, Ikano Power Centre
Never underestimate the amazing high that receiving (well, paying for) a well-done manicure can give you.
I also believe in giving props to jobs well done, so here it is.
I popped into Nails Garden on the fly at lunch break today because my snagged, chipped, flaked nails & cuticles were just about driving me up-the-wall crazy.
(The store is located at the corner of the P1 tunnel at IPC, next to the organic produce store and across from Chocolate World & Bread Talk.)
I've got to say, when I first walked in, I didn't have a very good impression. The three therapists were working at things on the tables at the front of house. Two of them looked up at me and went straight back to what they were doing (ie. one was working on a ledger and the other was just yakking) without any further acknowledgement that I was there. I piped up, "I'd like to get a basic manicure, please" and the other therapist who was working on some nail art looked over, packed her things and invited me to have a seat. Her name was Michelle.
I asked for a basic mani, no colour, just a trim, shape & removing of cuticles (short lunch break, mah), and Michelle then proceeded to work on my nails with a minimum of fuss & with great care.
Now, if you're a seasoned patron of manicures, you will know that not all manicures are equal... and I must say, Michelle gave me possibly the best (basic) manicure I've ever received. She was quick & professional, but very meticulous. She gently but rather determinedly, I must say, removed every bit of calloused cuticles (mine are pretty horrifying - hardened, dry, flaked & splintered) and hangnails, and gently buffed my nails which had torn off in layers (I have horrifyingly soft nails).
The basic manicure cost RM28. Without colour, without buffing. Not the cheapest nail parlour, but the quality of Michelle's work was definitely worth it.
I'll definitely go to her for my next mani, and if she does colours really well too, then I'll have my go-to manicurist sorted.. at least until she moves salons!
Thursday, May 31, 2012
For things I want, but know not how to speak of
I yearn for things I know not how to verbalize.
Know not how to put in words. Know not how to untangle from the knot of my heart, of my desires.
Know not, dare not. Perhaps should not. Because, you know, it might jinx it.
Perhaps only if I'm able to define "it", in the first place.
But knowing not doesn't make me yearn any less.
Know not how to put in words. Know not how to untangle from the knot of my heart, of my desires.
Know not, dare not. Perhaps should not. Because, you know, it might jinx it.
Perhaps only if I'm able to define "it", in the first place.
But knowing not doesn't make me yearn any less.
Friday, May 04, 2012
Breathless
Breathless.
Thinking of you takes my breath away.
I love you.
There.
I've said it.
I love you
And it leaves me dazed, breathless and ever so giddy
How much I love you.
Get here quickly, love.
My breath, my love, my heart,
They are yours for the keeping.
Thinking of you takes my breath away.
I love you.
There.
I've said it.
I love you
And it leaves me dazed, breathless and ever so giddy
How much I love you.
Get here quickly, love.
My breath, my love, my heart,
They are yours for the keeping.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Words, Wide Night
Somewhere on the other side of this wide night
and the distance between us. I am thinking of you.
The room is turning slowly away from the moon.
This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say
it is sad? In one of the tenses I singing
an impossible song of desire that you cannot hear.
La lala la. See? I close my eyes and imagine
the dark hills I would have to cross
to reach you. For I am in love with you and this
is what it is like or what it is like in words.
~ Carol Ann Duffy ~
and the distance between us. I am thinking of you.
The room is turning slowly away from the moon.
This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say
it is sad? In one of the tenses I singing
an impossible song of desire that you cannot hear.
La lala la. See? I close my eyes and imagine
the dark hills I would have to cross
to reach you. For I am in love with you and this
is what it is like or what it is like in words.
~ Carol Ann Duffy ~
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
As Real As It Gets
You're not quite real to me yet.
Not yet.
But for now, you're as real as it gets.
And I know it is real because nobody in their right mind gets into a long-distance whatever-this-is just for kicks. Or curiosity. Or fun. Because not having you here is Not Very Fun, even if we have been having a smashing time so far.
I know you're real because I have a Happy Song of my very own to prove it!
But most of all, you're real because my happiness is Real.
Not yet.
But for now, you're as real as it gets.
And I know it is real because nobody in their right mind gets into a long-distance whatever-this-is just for kicks. Or curiosity. Or fun. Because not having you here is Not Very Fun, even if we have been having a smashing time so far.
I know you're real because I have a Happy Song of my very own to prove it!
But most of all, you're real because my happiness is Real.
Friday, March 09, 2012
May!
My heart feels ready to burst
With all the things I feel for you!
Happiness
Brightness
Laughter
Love
All at once explosive and exciting;
I want the world to see it!
And then again, warm and secret
Like a private giggle only I will ever know why for.
With all the things I feel for you!
Happiness
Brightness
Laughter
Love
All at once explosive and exciting;
I want the world to see it!
And then again, warm and secret
Like a private giggle only I will ever know why for.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Here I Love You
Here I love you.
In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself.
The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters.
Days, all one kind, go chasing each other.
The snow unfurls in dancing figures.
A silver gull slips down from the west.
Sometimes a sail. High, high stars.
Oh, the black cross of a ship.
Alone.
Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.
Far away the sea sounds and resounds.
This is a port.
Here I love you.
Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.
I love you still among these cold things.
Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels
that cross the sea towards no arrival.
I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.
The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there.
My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.
I love what I do not have. You are so far.
My loathing wrestles with the slow twilight.
But night comes and starts to sing to me.
The moon turns its clockwork dream.
The biggest stars look at me with your eyes.
And as I love you, the pines in the wind
want to sing your name with their leaves of wire.
~ Pablo Neruda ~
Here I Love You, 1959
In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself.
The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters.
Days, all one kind, go chasing each other.
The snow unfurls in dancing figures.
A silver gull slips down from the west.
Sometimes a sail. High, high stars.
Oh, the black cross of a ship.
Alone.
Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.
Far away the sea sounds and resounds.
This is a port.
Here I love you.
Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.
I love you still among these cold things.
Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels
that cross the sea towards no arrival.
I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.
The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there.
My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.
I love what I do not have. You are so far.
My loathing wrestles with the slow twilight.
But night comes and starts to sing to me.
The moon turns its clockwork dream.
The biggest stars look at me with your eyes.
And as I love you, the pines in the wind
want to sing your name with their leaves of wire.
~ Pablo Neruda ~
Here I Love You, 1959
Sunday, February 12, 2012
You, Bloody Bus Number Twenty-Two
You!
You came out of the blue.
You, bloody Bus Number 22.
When here I was, content to wait for Number 57.
I thought I knew which way I was going
So sure of the road I wanted to travel
Even if it was only still in theory.
And so I was happy to wait for Number 57.
Then you came by
And showed me what your route might've been.
A tiny, tiny little peek at your sumptuous secrets,
And I wondered about Number 57.
What spirit you inspired,
What dreams you caressed,
What promises of delights you held,
And I wondered about Number 57.
Should I bide?
Should I take the risk?
Tempted was I, to take that step into the new unknown
And to forsake Number 57.
But before your doors even opened,
You pulled away.
And I was left with regrets
Of what never was
Of what might have been
Of, perhaps, my own imagining.
And I stood there,
Cold,
Wondering about you
Bloody Bus Number Twenty-two.
You came out of the blue.
You, bloody Bus Number 22.
When here I was, content to wait for Number 57.
I thought I knew which way I was going
So sure of the road I wanted to travel
Even if it was only still in theory.
And so I was happy to wait for Number 57.
Then you came by
And showed me what your route might've been.
A tiny, tiny little peek at your sumptuous secrets,
And I wondered about Number 57.
What spirit you inspired,
What dreams you caressed,
What promises of delights you held,
And I wondered about Number 57.
Should I bide?
Should I take the risk?
Tempted was I, to take that step into the new unknown
And to forsake Number 57.
But before your doors even opened,
You pulled away.
And I was left with regrets
Of what never was
Of what might have been
Of, perhaps, my own imagining.
And I stood there,
Cold,
Wondering about you
Bloody Bus Number Twenty-two.
Thursday, February 09, 2012
Truth
I wrote something today.
I wrote something wicked.
I wrote something.. true.
But I'm afraid of what the payment for that Truth will be.
You! You were but the briefest flicker in my life,
But a spark that flared bright.
Irresistably bright.
You've inspired me to write again; did you know?
But right now, I'm not sure that is the best of things.
How can it be that I miss you already, when I barely know you?
But I do.
So very much.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
You Should Date a Girl Who Reads
by Rosemarie Urquico
“You should date a girl who reads.
Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes, who has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.
Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she has found the book she wants. You see that weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a secondhand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow and worn.
She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.
Buy her another cup of coffee.
Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.
It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas, for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry and in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.
She has to give it a shot somehow.
Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.
Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things must come to end, but that you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.
Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.
If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.
You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.
You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.
Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.
Or better yet, date a girl who writes.”
Picture of Girl Reading Under A Tree (c. 1920s) courtesy of this site.
“You should date a girl who reads.
Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes, who has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.
Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she has found the book she wants. You see that weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a secondhand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow and worn.
She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.
Buy her another cup of coffee.
Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.
It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas, for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry and in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.
She has to give it a shot somehow.
Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.
Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things must come to end, but that you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.
Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.
If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.
You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.
You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.
Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.
Or better yet, date a girl who writes.”
Picture of Girl Reading Under A Tree (c. 1920s) courtesy of this site.
Wednesday, October 05, 2011
Melbourne, oh Melbourne
Today, I find myself back in Melbourne. It was just shy of two full years ago that I was last here - for Doggy's wedding, for my first visit to Melbourne, for my first time in Australia, ever.
We, my Darling and I, spent 6 whole days in Melbourne, exploring her (well, minus 1.5 days in the suburbs for wedding stuff). It was meant to be summer, but it was a cool summer that year, methinks, because I remember having to bundle up for most of it. Or perhaps it was just the infamous Melbourne weather - "4 seasons in one week!" is feedback I get from pretty much everyone familiar with Melbs.
Anyhoo, on that trip, we landed, checked-in, washed up and immediately commenced our mad touristing. It was with some regretful retrospection that we realized we had covered pretty much all of the Melbourne grid in 3 days, and were left to "shake leg" for the remainder of the trip.
It was, on that note, that I made the dismissive opinion that Melbourne, whilst a vibrant and GORGEOUS city, isn't really one to come to for a holiday, but would be a fantastic place to live in for a bit. I was of the firm opinion that I didn't think I would EVER come back to Melbourne for a holiday. Never. And if I wouldn't be coming for a holiday, then unless I decided to look for work in Melbourne or married a Melburnian, the likelihood of me ever seeing Melbourne again were next to none.
That made me a little sad, for Melbourne is a place of much charm. And awesome food. When I think about Melbourne, the architecture and food immediately come to mind. Flinders St Station. Churros. The GPO. The QV Market. Victoria State Library. Lygon St. *swoon* And to think it would be only just memories, well, made me sad.
As fate would have it, fate whom so fondly loves to throw me a "HAH!" in the face, after a mad flurry of three months with my new employers, found me back in Melbourne; unexpected, and a little bit wild-eyed and in disbelief. As I write this now in the wee hours of the morning from my hotel room in Melbourne itself, I can still scarcely believe I am actually here. The air smells different, so I know we're not in Kansas anymore, Toto.. but. Still.
It's still a little unreal to be here. Managing a project which, if it fails, will mean potential trouble for the company I work for, on a very public and national scale. And since I was put solely responsible for managing the logistics & incidentals, if this fails, the blame will lie squarely on me.
Am I pissing in my pants? Hell, YES.
Can I believe all this is happening, and that I AM IN MELBOURNE *RIGHT* NOW MAKING IT HAPPEN?? Hell, errr.. no?
Tomorrow, I will wake up, I will walk out the front door of the hotel, and I will walk through the streets of the city that, for some reason despite finding it a boring holiday destination, has taken hold of my heart. Then, maybe, I will believe I am in Melbourne.
We, my Darling and I, spent 6 whole days in Melbourne, exploring her (well, minus 1.5 days in the suburbs for wedding stuff). It was meant to be summer, but it was a cool summer that year, methinks, because I remember having to bundle up for most of it. Or perhaps it was just the infamous Melbourne weather - "4 seasons in one week!" is feedback I get from pretty much everyone familiar with Melbs.
Anyhoo, on that trip, we landed, checked-in, washed up and immediately commenced our mad touristing. It was with some regretful retrospection that we realized we had covered pretty much all of the Melbourne grid in 3 days, and were left to "shake leg" for the remainder of the trip.
It was, on that note, that I made the dismissive opinion that Melbourne, whilst a vibrant and GORGEOUS city, isn't really one to come to for a holiday, but would be a fantastic place to live in for a bit. I was of the firm opinion that I didn't think I would EVER come back to Melbourne for a holiday. Never. And if I wouldn't be coming for a holiday, then unless I decided to look for work in Melbourne or married a Melburnian, the likelihood of me ever seeing Melbourne again were next to none.
That made me a little sad, for Melbourne is a place of much charm. And awesome food. When I think about Melbourne, the architecture and food immediately come to mind. Flinders St Station. Churros. The GPO. The QV Market. Victoria State Library. Lygon St. *swoon* And to think it would be only just memories, well, made me sad.
As fate would have it, fate whom so fondly loves to throw me a "HAH!" in the face, after a mad flurry of three months with my new employers, found me back in Melbourne; unexpected, and a little bit wild-eyed and in disbelief. As I write this now in the wee hours of the morning from my hotel room in Melbourne itself, I can still scarcely believe I am actually here. The air smells different, so I know we're not in Kansas anymore, Toto.. but. Still.
It's still a little unreal to be here. Managing a project which, if it fails, will mean potential trouble for the company I work for, on a very public and national scale. And since I was put solely responsible for managing the logistics & incidentals, if this fails, the blame will lie squarely on me.
Am I pissing in my pants? Hell, YES.
Can I believe all this is happening, and that I AM IN MELBOURNE *RIGHT* NOW MAKING IT HAPPEN?? Hell, errr.. no?
Tomorrow, I will wake up, I will walk out the front door of the hotel, and I will walk through the streets of the city that, for some reason despite finding it a boring holiday destination, has taken hold of my heart. Then, maybe, I will believe I am in Melbourne.
Sunday, September 05, 2010
Of Things That Go Boo in the Night
Of late, the urge to write in the wee hours of the night has returned. Over the last few nights, the urge has been quite insistent; I must comply.
Resistance is futile.
The quiet nights have not been good to me recently. It doesn't help that I am a late sleeper, most awake and lucid in the hours surrounding midnight; a legacy inherited from my father. Too many thoughts I'd rather not have come unbidden, and unwelcomed. Often, they're set off by the smallest and seemingly most insignificant of things.
I read something on the Internet one day. Something completely geeky and inane, but humourous enough for me to immediately want to share it with somebody. The only person I knew who would've understood and laughed with me was him. Unfortunately, calling him is no longer an option.
The thing I wanted to share with him has long since been forgotten. I can't even remember the gist of it. But the yearning to share things with him again remains.
I miss him still. Sometimes. Often. Mostly when there's something I want to share. Often, it's something so exceedingly geeky or nonsensical, nobody else I know would really get it. He used to thoroughly indulge me my whimsical side. I loved him endlessly for that. I loved him for a lot of things.
I had a really nice day today. I had dinner & coffee with my girls like we hadn't had in a long, long time. It was... it was love.
But much as I enjoyed myself, and much as I love my girls, it didn't help fill this hole in my heart.
I missed him today. I took the long way home from dinner, a long drive around town, one full of memories. I missed him so much.
But I can't help but wonder if it is just having someone to share things with that I really miss, and not the person itself? Some days, that seems so clear. Other days, the two are one and the same.
I wonder if he misses me this way too sometimes. I try not to think about it though, because whether he does or not at all, it still hurts a little too much.
Resistance is futile.
The quiet nights have not been good to me recently. It doesn't help that I am a late sleeper, most awake and lucid in the hours surrounding midnight; a legacy inherited from my father. Too many thoughts I'd rather not have come unbidden, and unwelcomed. Often, they're set off by the smallest and seemingly most insignificant of things.
I read something on the Internet one day. Something completely geeky and inane, but humourous enough for me to immediately want to share it with somebody. The only person I knew who would've understood and laughed with me was him. Unfortunately, calling him is no longer an option.
The thing I wanted to share with him has long since been forgotten. I can't even remember the gist of it. But the yearning to share things with him again remains.
I miss him still. Sometimes. Often. Mostly when there's something I want to share. Often, it's something so exceedingly geeky or nonsensical, nobody else I know would really get it. He used to thoroughly indulge me my whimsical side. I loved him endlessly for that. I loved him for a lot of things.
I had a really nice day today. I had dinner & coffee with my girls like we hadn't had in a long, long time. It was... it was love.
But much as I enjoyed myself, and much as I love my girls, it didn't help fill this hole in my heart.
I missed him today. I took the long way home from dinner, a long drive around town, one full of memories. I missed him so much.
But I can't help but wonder if it is just having someone to share things with that I really miss, and not the person itself? Some days, that seems so clear. Other days, the two are one and the same.
I wonder if he misses me this way too sometimes. I try not to think about it though, because whether he does or not at all, it still hurts a little too much.
Monday, November 23, 2009
When Best Just Isn't Good Enough
There are times when you feel like such a complete incompetent, and it doesn't matter that people tell you it's okay, because the job was just way over your head anyway, so you shouldn't feel bad about it.
Well, it doesn't feel okay.
It makes you feel such a failure when other people have to be called in to help you do what you were supposed to do.
It makes you wonder if you know what the hell you're doing.
It makes you start to wonder and doubt if you'll be able to live up to even your own expectations, nevermind your boss'.
It makes you feel like you're an idiot moron.
Well, it doesn't feel okay.
It makes you feel such a failure when other people have to be called in to help you do what you were supposed to do.
It makes you wonder if you know what the hell you're doing.
It makes you start to wonder and doubt if you'll be able to live up to even your own expectations, nevermind your boss'.
It makes you feel like you're an idiot moron.
Saturday, September 05, 2009
Feeling LUSH-ious!
Have I mentioned my love affair with LUSH? Look at what the BFF brought back for meeeeeeee!!!
*swoon*
The booty:
Fever Massage Bar
Herbalism Facial Cleanser
Heavenly Bodies Buttercream
Flying Fox Shower Gel
Rub Rub Shower Scrub
Mask of Magnaminty
Shimmy Shimmy Sparkle Massage Bar
Free Toner Samplers
Guess who jumped straight into a LUSH-ious shower, nevermind that it was 2am?
Bliss!
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
Contentment
Contentment is having to be at work up to 10 hours a day, but being happy to hear your boss' voice because it's just soooo mellifluous: rich, smooth and comforting, like the creamiest peanut butter on Earth.
Mmmmmmm....
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
The Hyenas Laugh
What more are we than meat
And skeletons
Rattling our way
Through this existence?
Aimless.
Empty.
Meaningless.
All of it
Meaningless.
In the distance, hyenas laugh.
And skeletons
Rattling our way
Through this existence?
Aimless.
Empty.
Meaningless.
All of it
Meaningless.
In the distance, hyenas laugh.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Come Back to Me
David Cook is fast becoming my favourite new act, nevermind I have no idea what he looks like.
-----------------
You say you gotta go and find yourself
You say that you're becoming someone else
Don't recognize the face in the mirror looking back at you
You say you're leaving as you look away
I know there's really nothing left to say
Just know I'm here whenever you need me, I will wait for you
So I'll let you go, I'll set you free
And when you've seen what you need to see
When you find you... come back to me
Take your time, I won't go anywhere
Picture you with the wind in your hair
I'll keep your things right where you left 'em, I'll be here for you.
I can't get close if you're not there
I can't get inside if there's no soul there
I can't fix you, I can't save you
It's something you'll have to do.
So I'll let you go, I'll set you free
And when you've seen what you need to see
When you find you... come back to me
Come back to me
And I hope you find everything that you need.
I'll be right here, waiting to see
You find you... come back to me
When you find you...
Come back to me
~David Cook~
Come Back to Me
-----------------
You say you gotta go and find yourself
You say that you're becoming someone else
Don't recognize the face in the mirror looking back at you
You say you're leaving as you look away
I know there's really nothing left to say
Just know I'm here whenever you need me, I will wait for you
So I'll let you go, I'll set you free
And when you've seen what you need to see
When you find you... come back to me
Take your time, I won't go anywhere
Picture you with the wind in your hair
I'll keep your things right where you left 'em, I'll be here for you.
I can't get close if you're not there
I can't get inside if there's no soul there
I can't fix you, I can't save you
It's something you'll have to do.
So I'll let you go, I'll set you free
And when you've seen what you need to see
When you find you... come back to me
Come back to me
And I hope you find everything that you need.
I'll be right here, waiting to see
You find you... come back to me
When you find you...
Come back to me
~David Cook~
Come Back to Me
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
For You
Trawling through old drafts I found this, dated 04 January 2007.
So much has happened since. So much has changed, and yet, some things never will.
-------------
I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
Sonnet XVII, 1960
So much has happened since. So much has changed, and yet, some things never will.
-------------
I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.
I love you without knowing how,
or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly,
without complexities or pride;
So I love you
because I know no other way
but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.
Sonnet XVII, 1960
Friday, March 06, 2009
Vanilla Bean Macarons!
I did it! I made macarons! No, better yet, I successfully made macarons!! That dainty, elusive, skirted delight. That flighty madame of pastries, fickle validation a pâtissier's skill.....
Today, I is Queen of the World.
Unfortunately, the pics of the sandwiched ones didn't come out too nice. Still! I did it!
Note to self: Must get a better camera...
Today, I is Queen of the World.
Unfortunately, the pics of the sandwiched ones didn't come out too nice. Still! I did it!
Note to self: Must get a better camera...
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