| LOCKED (in sleep) |
[January 7th, 2011] |
do you know the perfect dream, where under the big apple tree we would meet, big red and yellow balloons will be waiting to lift us off the grass-green grass, into the sky-blue sky? where you would also hear from the speakers amidst the white cottoncandy clouds, our songs play. there, we'll be floating from clouds to rainbows to the fairytale cottage with a brown roof, chimney and smoke, hand-in-hand, fingers-between-fingers.
do you know the perfect dream that comes in a big bubble at night from the top of your head attached to the face with the slightest smile on through the night? that one which you know will leave you singing you are my sunshine while making coffee the next morning in your pyjamas and big-bear-bedroom-slippers.
do you know the perfect dream that makes you want to go back to sleep in the morning, leaving you frustrated with the stupid red alarm clock with bells on the sides of its round face? that dream which grows in bubble and goes pop at its most climactic moment, drenching you in sticky foam and icy water.
even if you don't know, take my hand, and we could find that particular night's sleep together, ready ourselves for that big dream. we'll brave the nightmares together.
75% locked.
add, then comment ♥
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| jetsetter |
[November 9th, 2009] |
isk has made me realised, that i've forgotten to mention i've a TRAVEL BLOG!!! it's easier for me to upload photos there.
please do leave me some love at the blog :)
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| rose. |
[September 2nd, 2009] |
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i've grown thorns, so you should stay away or you'll just keep getting hurt.
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| thump thump, we'll keep moving on. |
[August 24th, 2009] |
if i could walk backwards, fit my feet into old dusty footprints, and be in yesterdays, i would. i won't look back, i'd just carefully walk in your direction. but the prints are smudged, and it must be that my feet have some how grown too big to fall perfectly in old footsteps.
it's too difficult, and it's getting too cold.
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| fighter spirit. |
[August 5th, 2009] |
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lately between us, sits this heavy impregnable silence. both of us are barely standing, worn out from all our wars, neither wanting to be the first to give in. you, wounded heart, and i, trashed soul. is it time for one of us to turn our back on the other, and walk away, and say, it's for better days?
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| the dogs of babel by carolyn parkhurt |
[July 4th, 2009] |
Suicide is just a moment, Lexy told me. This is how she described it to me. For just a moment, it doesn't matter that you've got people who love you and the sun is shining and there's a movie coming out this weekend that you've been dying to see. It hits you all of a sudden that nothing is ever going to be okay, ever, and you kind of dare yourself: Is this it? You start thinking that you've known this was coming all along, but you don't know if today's going to be the day. And if you think about it too much, it's probably not. But you dare yourself. You pick up a knife and press it gently to your skin, you look out a nineteenth-story window and you think, I could just do it. I could just do it. And most of the time, you look at the height and you get scared, or you think about the poor people on the sidewalk below - what if there are kids coming home from school and they have to spend the rest of their lives trying to forget this terrible thing you're going to make them see? And the moment's over. You think about how sad it would've been if you never got to see that movie, and you look at your dog and wonder who would've taken care of her if you had gone. And you go back to normal. But you keep it there in your mind. Even if you never take yourself up on it, it gives you a kind of comfort to know that the day is yours to choose. You tuck it away in your brain like sour candy tucked in your cheek, and the puckering memory it leaves behind, the rough pleasure of running your tongue over its strange terrain, is exactly the same.
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