if only tonight we could sleep
All habits that I have made throughout twelve years of attending school (a compulsory one, of course), don't evaporate together with exhaled air, beads of sweat, or blood from cut fingertip. I am waiting relentlessly for somebody to flick fingers in front of my eyes and tell me well, honey, wake up, it's only too pleasureable a dream of pleasures. After assessing the amount of free time to spend, I noticed that instead of being glad about it, I feel helpless. There were too big numbers in the result of the calculation.
My ashen coloured hair reflect in the black screen in the spectrum of colours much brighter than the primary tinge. A glint in the eye is only a cooperation of moist cornea and light of a lamp. A short circuit in a fine work of office lightning causes the picture to disappear instantly, just like in consequently moved-along film stills. After renewed flow of the current, a different picture is revealed, with another expression on the face, and with completely new emotion in the eyes.
Whims of women are taken with a pinch of salt (it's only a natural thing). In connection with indecisiveness of weather outside, we obtain a mixture that is entirely unbearable. Let's add a pinch of unbalanced feelings, a teaspoon of never-ending demands from life, hundreds of millilitres of longing for positive changes, and we can get a concoction of bittersweet taste which, to our surprise, may seem strangely familiar.
I have to write things down to fully comprehend them. Murakami takes the words out of my mouth. Not that I mind it though.
This year's chocolate ice cream taste exceptionally acerbic. I dream restless dreams. Breathing is a much harder process when there are accumulated expectations inside (or maybe needs). There is still too little of something. Too little.
[a place to bury strangers - missing you]
My ashen coloured hair reflect in the black screen in the spectrum of colours much brighter than the primary tinge. A glint in the eye is only a cooperation of moist cornea and light of a lamp. A short circuit in a fine work of office lightning causes the picture to disappear instantly, just like in consequently moved-along film stills. After renewed flow of the current, a different picture is revealed, with another expression on the face, and with completely new emotion in the eyes.
Whims of women are taken with a pinch of salt (it's only a natural thing). In connection with indecisiveness of weather outside, we obtain a mixture that is entirely unbearable. Let's add a pinch of unbalanced feelings, a teaspoon of never-ending demands from life, hundreds of millilitres of longing for positive changes, and we can get a concoction of bittersweet taste which, to our surprise, may seem strangely familiar.
I have to write things down to fully comprehend them. Murakami takes the words out of my mouth. Not that I mind it though.
This year's chocolate ice cream taste exceptionally acerbic. I dream restless dreams. Breathing is a much harder process when there are accumulated expectations inside (or maybe needs). There is still too little of something. Too little.
[a place to bury strangers - missing you]