wtf?
What I am holding with both of my hands is drops of time.
Gently, I hold them. These forgotten memories in which I lost words to.
If I recall them one by one, I thought I would understood all of them.
But, my words began to fade, right next to me.
A night without answer, a fragment of warmth, and a faraway yearning,
I live just by repeating those.
What I’m holding with both of my hands is drops of time.
Gently, I hold them. These forgotten memories in which I lost words to.
I want to grasp what you thought of the fact in my hands
(tightly), so they would never subside.
We, humans, are yet to be able to share feelings.
The meaning that words have, thoughts without examples, and feelings
without answers are conveyed just by gazing at each other.
What I am holding with both of my hands is drops of time.
Gently, I hold them. These forgotten memories in which I lost words to.
Maybe you will put these feelings away in your heart.
”I’ve lost it...”
This song is on repeat at the moment and I'm not getting sick of it at all. Lately I've been working on the draft to a letter I'm thinking of putting in Ms. Thoms' mailbox, of things I never wrote about, things I was scared to write about, things I've never told anyone, and maybe this song. Oh my, I think I actually lost or misplaced that. Most likely misplaced. But if you misplace something on my desk, it's probably never going to be found. (><) I spent a lot of time and put a lot of thought into that. And I just realized that I haven't written anything in a month or so. This is bad. I'm no longer getting my daily rant out second period. Instead, I'm suffering through a boring as hell chemistry lecture. This song makes me want to write though...
Something
Sometimes he'll be sitting in class, professor droning on about some derivation or another, and he'll let himself listen as the boy behind him stands up and walks out of the room. The first time it happened, his peers stopped taking notes and began whispering, making up outlandish stories. Now it happens almost every other day that they just continue with their work.
When this happens, he often lets his mind wander off to imagine what the boy could be doing at 8:46 AM other than attending class. It couldn't be a drug exchange, those usually happened in dark alleys at 3 AM when no one else was awake. It couldn't be to get drunk off his ass; what sorry soul went drinking alone in the morning anyway? So what could he be doing this early in the day?
He wishes he could get up and follow the boy out the door. Over the next few weeks (which soon become months), he sits in his chair biting his lip, twirling his pen as he debates leaving the lecture hall or staying behind to catch up on sleep. He mulls over the choices and curses his indecisive nature.
It's on a Tuesday that he no longer has to weigh the pros and cons of each choice during class. It's on this particular Tuesday, with the sun hiding behind thin clouds, that he feels himself being pulled out of his seat by the hand and running after the boy through the halls and into the fire escape.
After anxious, gut-wrenching minutes of silence, he catches his breath and asks, "What the hell was that for?" The boy looks at him and smirks and he thinks he can feel himself melting into his shoes. The boy holds out a pack of cigarettes and feeling bold, he decides to take one and light it. When he breathes in, the smoke gets caught in his throat and he coughs everywhere. The boy laughs, almost swallowing his own cigarette when he forgets to pull it out from between his lips.
He eventually gets the hang of breathing the bitter smoke in and out and they spend the next few hours sprawled uncomfortably on the stairs.
Yes, that was probably horribly confusing. With the he and the he. Sorry. And yes, the fire escape thing is from HYD. That was the only part though. I have no idea what's going on in this... thing.
wtf, brainfart.
Gently, I hold them. These forgotten memories in which I lost words to.
If I recall them one by one, I thought I would understood all of them.
But, my words began to fade, right next to me.
A night without answer, a fragment of warmth, and a faraway yearning,
I live just by repeating those.
What I’m holding with both of my hands is drops of time.
Gently, I hold them. These forgotten memories in which I lost words to.
I want to grasp what you thought of the fact in my hands
(tightly), so they would never subside.
We, humans, are yet to be able to share feelings.
The meaning that words have, thoughts without examples, and feelings
without answers are conveyed just by gazing at each other.
What I am holding with both of my hands is drops of time.
Gently, I hold them. These forgotten memories in which I lost words to.
Maybe you will put these feelings away in your heart.
”I’ve lost it...”
This song is on repeat at the moment and I'm not getting sick of it at all. Lately I've been working on the draft to a letter I'm thinking of putting in Ms. Thoms' mailbox, of things I never wrote about, things I was scared to write about, things I've never told anyone, and maybe this song. Oh my, I think I actually lost or misplaced that. Most likely misplaced. But if you misplace something on my desk, it's probably never going to be found. (><) I spent a lot of time and put a lot of thought into that. And I just realized that I haven't written anything in a month or so. This is bad. I'm no longer getting my daily rant out second period. Instead, I'm suffering through a boring as hell chemistry lecture. This song makes me want to write though...
Something
Sometimes he'll be sitting in class, professor droning on about some derivation or another, and he'll let himself listen as the boy behind him stands up and walks out of the room. The first time it happened, his peers stopped taking notes and began whispering, making up outlandish stories. Now it happens almost every other day that they just continue with their work.
When this happens, he often lets his mind wander off to imagine what the boy could be doing at 8:46 AM other than attending class. It couldn't be a drug exchange, those usually happened in dark alleys at 3 AM when no one else was awake. It couldn't be to get drunk off his ass; what sorry soul went drinking alone in the morning anyway? So what could he be doing this early in the day?
He wishes he could get up and follow the boy out the door. Over the next few weeks (which soon become months), he sits in his chair biting his lip, twirling his pen as he debates leaving the lecture hall or staying behind to catch up on sleep. He mulls over the choices and curses his indecisive nature.
It's on a Tuesday that he no longer has to weigh the pros and cons of each choice during class. It's on this particular Tuesday, with the sun hiding behind thin clouds, that he feels himself being pulled out of his seat by the hand and running after the boy through the halls and into the fire escape.
After anxious, gut-wrenching minutes of silence, he catches his breath and asks, "What the hell was that for?" The boy looks at him and smirks and he thinks he can feel himself melting into his shoes. The boy holds out a pack of cigarettes and feeling bold, he decides to take one and light it. When he breathes in, the smoke gets caught in his throat and he coughs everywhere. The boy laughs, almost swallowing his own cigarette when he forgets to pull it out from between his lips.
He eventually gets the hang of breathing the bitter smoke in and out and they spend the next few hours sprawled uncomfortably on the stairs.
Yes, that was probably horribly confusing. With the he and the he. Sorry. And yes, the fire escape thing is from HYD. That was the only part though. I have no idea what's going on in this... thing.
wtf, brainfart.