The thin sheet of Manila paper provides no warmth. The sinus-piercing smell of marker is, well, sinus-piercing. But so familiar that it almost soothes the cough I've been keeping for days. I delight myself in these things I haven't touched in maybe two years. For a quick moment it feels like a couple of years back, when time was easy to extend and truth was easier to distort.
The quick moment right after, it feels like wanting to stretch gaps of time. Those that lie between then now and now. Those that confuse themselves with the past. A couple of years back.
Raining cats and dogs has never been more appropriate. Things are changing, I realise. Reading on the way to school has become some sort of routine. Suddenly an fx doesn't provide much room to move. I feed myself nuggets on Wednesday nights, vow on weekends never to cram again only to find myself up so late before worksheet deadlines. Friday nights are mini blog and music and sleep parties. Everyday is a story. My life these days - pretty crazy.
On late Friday afternoons the sparks of euphoria blast into a massive thrill that has the biggest tendency to consume the little things that make my every step reach the ground. Bad is pushed to the side. Were things this good a couple of years back? Were struggles this rewarded? Were highs this extreme?
Answer is almost nonsense. What is not is that which is often asked.
Who do you do it for?
No comments:
Post a Comment