198 * MOVED
It's been a week since I've moved, and since then I feel like things beyond my physical surroundings have changed. It seems strange sitting here, trying to attempt a reconstruction of some sort of last week, which has seemingly and curiously eluded me. Oh yes, there is one thing - walking the fading city streets, as the iridescent lamps are perched up upon the sky; sitting by the river as dark as night, the coarse symphonies of rickshaw drivers and river taxis filling the air as I sit on cold marble holding in my hands something precious, something I would never let go. The river, to the rest of the world is something trite, it probably is to me as well, yet somewhere in my subconscious, it is a cyclical path on which I transverse everyday. And so it all goes, all goes.
Sunday morning. Today is my Mom's birthday, I wished her early this morning, but it seems like the rest of the household including herself has gone on its usual bustling of activity. Today is the last day of the season, and while it incites in me a streamline consciousness of the past 9 months or so, it is a blurry one and something that I feel I cannot lay claim to.
Mogwai makes me sombre I think.
And if plans and pinky promises are anything to go by, I can't wait for Tuesday.
Sunday morning. Today is my Mom's birthday, I wished her early this morning, but it seems like the rest of the household including herself has gone on its usual bustling of activity. Today is the last day of the season, and while it incites in me a streamline consciousness of the past 9 months or so, it is a blurry one and something that I feel I cannot lay claim to.
Mogwai makes me sombre I think.
And if plans and pinky promises are anything to go by, I can't wait for Tuesday.