(no subject)
yesterday, walking up the path to yvonne's house, i felt rather sad. Four CNYs spent here... shared laughter and tears. Even now, as i sit typing on her computer, i see the familiar faded carpet... the computer hardware littering the room - the lingering smell of marlboro lights. The dog in the kitchen... the curtain i accidentally ripped one time. post-it notes printed with my hastily scribbled writing. wine and biscuits and chinese melon seeds and a large map of the world to remind one of the possiblities that life may offer.
I have no more tears to shed. Useless useless liquid glimmers on blotched skin. What is there to do but to talk about the meaning of things and listen to old quiet music?
They will not return to live here again. I think they've realised that hope and luck is a luxury that refuses to be harnessed. I will stay in this ghost house for the night because i must. Yes... what is there to do but burn tobacco and slowly shift again my sight - because sight is meant to shift and pain, like joy, is meant to be felt closely.
I have no more tears to shed. Useless useless liquid glimmers on blotched skin. What is there to do but to talk about the meaning of things and listen to old quiet music?
They will not return to live here again. I think they've realised that hope and luck is a luxury that refuses to be harnessed. I will stay in this ghost house for the night because i must. Yes... what is there to do but burn tobacco and slowly shift again my sight - because sight is meant to shift and pain, like joy, is meant to be felt closely.