I never knew that movie soundtracks could serve such a useful purpose.. introducing people to music I guess they would never have stumbled upon ever.. I fell in love with Sonic Youth after listening to a song of theirs in Juno. Juno did become one of my favourite films ever but with it there were a number of musicians who left a lingering infatuation kinda feeling in the air..
Originally the Carpenters'. I bet many don't know that Britney Spears' I Love Rock M' Roll is actually a cover of a cover. Originally it was Arrows' and then Joan Jett and The Blackhearts covered it. Which comforts me to know that.. since I was always bewildered about why I love the song so much and why on earth is Britney singing it.
Also, Kimya Dawson and Adam Green of The Moldy Peaches, as introduced by Juno. But genres like Noise Rock and No Wave is more my kind than indie or alternative.. ruggedness rather than edgier sounding pop. Pulls your heart's strings a little tighter. But indie does serve the purpose of putting into words the feelings more effectively than mainstream pop which IS rather disgusting, one you think about it. As I have hinted on in many previous occasions.
Sonic Youth's Thurston Moore's voice in a slightly mellower version of Kobain's in my opinion.. and what're more, he's still alive. And 51. Thus pushes me more into believing I was born in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Anyway, similar movies were Notting Hill and 10 Things I Hate About You. And many others. And more to come.
21 September 2009
20 September 2009
The End of Exams
19th September. I waited so long for yesterday. But surprisingly the (expected) emotion of relief wasn't there. Weird. Maybe it's because I didn't put in enough effort to actually be thankful that I'd have nothing to do when that ends.. and I'll have the time to myself. But then I have all the time to myself. And it's just wrong. Life's going nowhere.
Some people just don't seem to understand the concept of being a 'loner'. Advising someone to no end about going out and meeting people and getting together with friends is not justifiable.. and it's just the hidden control freak in them. Just as people have notions about what women should do and not do, and what they should wear and say and every damn thing on the planet.. there exist certain rules about social behaviour and socialising.. which sometimes people so easily relate with normal daily activity and "staying sane".
There's this taboo about being in your room all day which doesn't seem to go away.. and just like the incessant knocks on the door, there are reminders and re-reminders that being alone isn't right and isn't well naturally, allowed by these rulers of the world.. who can't keep their nose out of everyone's business. They slap you on the back and pat you on your shoulder and tell you to cheer up.
And well, those of us who don't fake, aren't fake, won't ever be fake would never do that because they just do and say and act like what they actually are inside. And if inside you aren't happy you don't show you're happy, you aren't satisfied, you aren't content and you're just well totally bewildered by the multitude of meaningless vices and aline disgusting emotions and trivalties of life.
Just as some people are good at being able to be in groups and noise and, well, bad BO. Yeah. We loners are good at being self-reliant in having a good time in peaceful solitude with apparently inanimate best friends like books and music. And find solace in writing or reading or anything else in the world that can be done alone, daydreaming, yes instead of finding peace in a roomfull of people and clatter and gossip and weird fake laughs.
Someone got it right when they said self-love's the best kind of love.
And I was lucky enough to understand that much younger than anyone else I know.. some of them would depend on another person to make them happy or interested in life till the second life is about to leave them forever.
I talk to myself.. although not out loud.. or I would've officially been crazy, right now I'm just self-proclaimed. But, listening to the line "Why're you so quiet?" for the thousandth time makes me wonder what are they attempting at when they ask me this. Is it to belittle me, cement my opinion on how stupid they are or just some other nonsensical forgettable stuff.. I've stopped caring. Well I didn't care when they asked me when I was nine and I won't care when I'm nineteen or ninety nine.
Or I wonder if they're just insecure about what goes on in my mind.. sometimes my behaviour leads them to believe I'm stuck up, obnoxious and plain arrogant. And I couldn't agree more, on certain terms and I am sometimes completely against the blatant view of my super-secret weird, sanely crazy personality.
There are just a bunch of people, I could count them on my fingers infact who know what I actually am.. and what it appears I pretend to be.. and there are some highly thoughtful relatively more like me.. a miniscule proportion of people who get me at hello.
Coming back from retrospection to life inspection and my direction.. err, now I'm confused about what I'll study after I finally leave school. Psychology, or so I thought was, what I'd be good at. But currently I think English would be good for me.. atleast it would solidify and legitimise what I thought I am, I'd like to be. History if I'm going to dig up graves.. and climb down into them and write my books.. what a thought.
Or maybe sociology to understand more about what I'm writing about. Philosophy would also serve the cause in a more in-depth way. And I realize it's going to be the toughest few days of my life when I'd have to decide and pick one. As it is I'm indecisive even when it comes to clothes, let alone college.
But I'm running ahead of time. And I should probably drop the anchor for a while and bobble in my bubble till time comes to swing the champagne bottle and break it and wave goodbye and a new hello.
Shifting to a new house for the very first time. Been living here since forever. I was born here. It's hard but important enought to not get all stubborn and haughty. Similar.. only three schools till date, three years in one, two years in the second. And then will complete a decade being in the same school I am in now. More than half my life. I'm a grounded person I guess.
School starts on 29th but before that have the Fine Arts practical on 22nd. Bleh.
Never been good at drawing human figures. Interesting fact.. Mughal rulers were initially against artists drawing humans as Islamic laws said that creation of life or depiction of it.. is solely the right of God, but one ruler suggested that it is all right, since when artists draw the figures do they come to realise the futileness of it all and how un-real the painting is, consequently realising how powerful God is, making them revere Him more than what they did before.
Studying all this has led me to belive studying subjects like History is like being stuck in time. My characteristic quality. Reflecting on what has happened. And reflecting on what could've happened and what will happen and what should've and what might have and what did happen. That's all me.
That's just another good part of being narcissistic, you love yourself so much that in everything you come across you stick with what you relate to and what you're best at. At least you're happy about some selected things.
And I get how science and math create. It takes all kinds to make the world work. The reflecting kind and the working kind. I'm glad to be in the former category.. and I'm glad there aren't more like me. I like being lazy. And I like being lazy alone.
;D
Some people just don't seem to understand the concept of being a 'loner'. Advising someone to no end about going out and meeting people and getting together with friends is not justifiable.. and it's just the hidden control freak in them. Just as people have notions about what women should do and not do, and what they should wear and say and every damn thing on the planet.. there exist certain rules about social behaviour and socialising.. which sometimes people so easily relate with normal daily activity and "staying sane".
There's this taboo about being in your room all day which doesn't seem to go away.. and just like the incessant knocks on the door, there are reminders and re-reminders that being alone isn't right and isn't well naturally, allowed by these rulers of the world.. who can't keep their nose out of everyone's business. They slap you on the back and pat you on your shoulder and tell you to cheer up.
And well, those of us who don't fake, aren't fake, won't ever be fake would never do that because they just do and say and act like what they actually are inside. And if inside you aren't happy you don't show you're happy, you aren't satisfied, you aren't content and you're just well totally bewildered by the multitude of meaningless vices and aline disgusting emotions and trivalties of life.
Just as some people are good at being able to be in groups and noise and, well, bad BO. Yeah. We loners are good at being self-reliant in having a good time in peaceful solitude with apparently inanimate best friends like books and music. And find solace in writing or reading or anything else in the world that can be done alone, daydreaming, yes instead of finding peace in a roomfull of people and clatter and gossip and weird fake laughs.
Someone got it right when they said self-love's the best kind of love.
And I was lucky enough to understand that much younger than anyone else I know.. some of them would depend on another person to make them happy or interested in life till the second life is about to leave them forever.
I talk to myself.. although not out loud.. or I would've officially been crazy, right now I'm just self-proclaimed. But, listening to the line "Why're you so quiet?" for the thousandth time makes me wonder what are they attempting at when they ask me this. Is it to belittle me, cement my opinion on how stupid they are or just some other nonsensical forgettable stuff.. I've stopped caring. Well I didn't care when they asked me when I was nine and I won't care when I'm nineteen or ninety nine.
Or I wonder if they're just insecure about what goes on in my mind.. sometimes my behaviour leads them to believe I'm stuck up, obnoxious and plain arrogant. And I couldn't agree more, on certain terms and I am sometimes completely against the blatant view of my super-secret weird, sanely crazy personality.
There are just a bunch of people, I could count them on my fingers infact who know what I actually am.. and what it appears I pretend to be.. and there are some highly thoughtful relatively more like me.. a miniscule proportion of people who get me at hello.
Coming back from retrospection to life inspection and my direction.. err, now I'm confused about what I'll study after I finally leave school. Psychology, or so I thought was, what I'd be good at. But currently I think English would be good for me.. atleast it would solidify and legitimise what I thought I am, I'd like to be. History if I'm going to dig up graves.. and climb down into them and write my books.. what a thought.
Or maybe sociology to understand more about what I'm writing about. Philosophy would also serve the cause in a more in-depth way. And I realize it's going to be the toughest few days of my life when I'd have to decide and pick one. As it is I'm indecisive even when it comes to clothes, let alone college.
But I'm running ahead of time. And I should probably drop the anchor for a while and bobble in my bubble till time comes to swing the champagne bottle and break it and wave goodbye and a new hello.
Shifting to a new house for the very first time. Been living here since forever. I was born here. It's hard but important enought to not get all stubborn and haughty. Similar.. only three schools till date, three years in one, two years in the second. And then will complete a decade being in the same school I am in now. More than half my life. I'm a grounded person I guess.
School starts on 29th but before that have the Fine Arts practical on 22nd. Bleh.
Never been good at drawing human figures. Interesting fact.. Mughal rulers were initially against artists drawing humans as Islamic laws said that creation of life or depiction of it.. is solely the right of God, but one ruler suggested that it is all right, since when artists draw the figures do they come to realise the futileness of it all and how un-real the painting is, consequently realising how powerful God is, making them revere Him more than what they did before.
Studying all this has led me to belive studying subjects like History is like being stuck in time. My characteristic quality. Reflecting on what has happened. And reflecting on what could've happened and what will happen and what should've and what might have and what did happen. That's all me.
That's just another good part of being narcissistic, you love yourself so much that in everything you come across you stick with what you relate to and what you're best at. At least you're happy about some selected things.
And I get how science and math create. It takes all kinds to make the world work. The reflecting kind and the working kind. I'm glad to be in the former category.. and I'm glad there aren't more like me. I like being lazy. And I like being lazy alone.
;D
15 September 2009
Through Tinted Scarlet Glass
I wonder how many people actually think about the future so much.. and if they do what do they see.. the house of their dreams. A wonderful life. The ideal setting for you to spend the rest of your life in. But I've heard that it doesn't turn out that way. Well, I think people forget what they imagined years ago their life's supposed to look like where they are right now. It's just forgetfulness, not fate. But I may be wrong. But I sure hope that I'm not.
Because days ago, (I got news for myself), I think too much, I imagine too much. And I am way to romantic for it to be healthy. I've been through this a hundred times : I expect something and it turns out that I don't get what I want. I get my heart-broken (Yes, even if it's something as silly as what I want for dinner a particular night). And picturing the future is huge, very easy as it may be.
The idyllic settings don't just flash across every day infront of my eyes. It's like organising something that's complex to the point of being frustrating. Just sometimes. And sometimes I step out into the garden and it comes crashing down inside me. What I want and how I want it. And who I want to be with. Or who I do not want to be with.
About 15 minutes ago I had the most vivid and by far the most interesting and the most calming and euphoric sensation at the same time. A house in the woods.. on a mountain and you can't see the building until you're well near the gate. There's a garden, a wild garden. Wild roses. Wild flowers. Untamed, except to make space for an elegant vintage white iron table and a couple of chairs. Birds and squirrels.. maybe even have a birdfeeder.
A grand white house white a glass door and innumerable french windows. With red curtains, not unlike the ones that are in my room right now. A small pond to the right and a white swing with overstuffed red cushions on the left.
The ground floor still looks kind of vague.. but up the stairs and there's the bedroom spread across the whole floor.
And the kind of bed I'd prefer. A year ago it would've been a swinging bed. A round one. Hanging from the ceiling with black satin. Or a large fourposter. Or a modernish water bed. Scarlet tinted windows on the bedroom floor, through which the sun would shine a personal shade of scarlet golden.
A few years ago I also wanted horses and a swimming pool, a tennis court, a huge field. I may want it again, but they're more or less useless. And anyhow, who has the money :P
Getting serious again.. in my bedroom I would bunk our for hours on end. Atleast one wall would all be covered with books to the ceiling. Another room would be all books, everywhere you see. With a beige armchar right in the middle, along with a footstool.
A wall niche. My reading wall niche. With a big window overlooking the valley. And a bunch of scarlet roses that grow right beneath it. I'd sit here when it would rain and I'd sit right in the middle of the room,on my very comfy armchair, on nights when I'd be scared of the darkness. While there would be Dylan in the background or the mellower songs of Gn'R or maybe classical works. On vinyl.
Or early morning on my hide-out on the terrace. Or late afternoon on a blanket spread out in the garden. With the birds chirping and the sun a balmy warm comfort, enveloping me like love does.
All day every day. Write and Read. Sprinking in a liberal amount of gourmet dinners and good movies. Kisses and hugs. That's Utopia.
I'd have a dog and two cats. Or give or take a couple. And fish.
Too much wilderness and a little sunshine. Lots of rain and fog and mist.
Imaginations like these ought to be written down, or they're lost when life makes you busy. It's also an attempt to make myself work towards something so I could get what I want right now, when at times I won't want it, and I'd love to settle for something that's not remotely like this.
Or when I feel I'm not worthy of anything. But I am. 'Cause this all.. it's already mine :)
Because days ago, (I got news for myself), I think too much, I imagine too much. And I am way to romantic for it to be healthy. I've been through this a hundred times : I expect something and it turns out that I don't get what I want. I get my heart-broken (Yes, even if it's something as silly as what I want for dinner a particular night). And picturing the future is huge, very easy as it may be.
The idyllic settings don't just flash across every day infront of my eyes. It's like organising something that's complex to the point of being frustrating. Just sometimes. And sometimes I step out into the garden and it comes crashing down inside me. What I want and how I want it. And who I want to be with. Or who I do not want to be with.
About 15 minutes ago I had the most vivid and by far the most interesting and the most calming and euphoric sensation at the same time. A house in the woods.. on a mountain and you can't see the building until you're well near the gate. There's a garden, a wild garden. Wild roses. Wild flowers. Untamed, except to make space for an elegant vintage white iron table and a couple of chairs. Birds and squirrels.. maybe even have a birdfeeder.
A grand white house white a glass door and innumerable french windows. With red curtains, not unlike the ones that are in my room right now. A small pond to the right and a white swing with overstuffed red cushions on the left.
The ground floor still looks kind of vague.. but up the stairs and there's the bedroom spread across the whole floor.
And the kind of bed I'd prefer. A year ago it would've been a swinging bed. A round one. Hanging from the ceiling with black satin. Or a large fourposter. Or a modernish water bed. Scarlet tinted windows on the bedroom floor, through which the sun would shine a personal shade of scarlet golden.
A few years ago I also wanted horses and a swimming pool, a tennis court, a huge field. I may want it again, but they're more or less useless. And anyhow, who has the money :P
Getting serious again.. in my bedroom I would bunk our for hours on end. Atleast one wall would all be covered with books to the ceiling. Another room would be all books, everywhere you see. With a beige armchar right in the middle, along with a footstool.
A wall niche. My reading wall niche. With a big window overlooking the valley. And a bunch of scarlet roses that grow right beneath it. I'd sit here when it would rain and I'd sit right in the middle of the room,on my very comfy armchair, on nights when I'd be scared of the darkness. While there would be Dylan in the background or the mellower songs of Gn'R or maybe classical works. On vinyl.
Or early morning on my hide-out on the terrace. Or late afternoon on a blanket spread out in the garden. With the birds chirping and the sun a balmy warm comfort, enveloping me like love does.
All day every day. Write and Read. Sprinking in a liberal amount of gourmet dinners and good movies. Kisses and hugs. That's Utopia.
I'd have a dog and two cats. Or give or take a couple. And fish.
Too much wilderness and a little sunshine. Lots of rain and fog and mist.
Imaginations like these ought to be written down, or they're lost when life makes you busy. It's also an attempt to make myself work towards something so I could get what I want right now, when at times I won't want it, and I'd love to settle for something that's not remotely like this.
Or when I feel I'm not worthy of anything. But I am. 'Cause this all.. it's already mine :)
1 September 2009
Wishful.
The stars twinkled and she could almost almost see them reflected in his eyes. They shone in the glasses half-filled with Coke. Voices of the night enveloped them as they stared up at the sky. It had stopped raining late in the afternoon and the sky had cleared out.
It was cold outside. But still warmer than when they were freezing in the AC, but neither of them had a problem with that. It was mandatory. It was habit.
They had studied all day. They were tired. And now they lay, out on the roof. Exhausted. It was almost a quarter to ten. The floor of the roof felt cold even through the blanket they'd spread out.
Her fingers played with the thin layer of dust on the floor. And he let out a sigh of relief. Her hair were half sprawled on the floor. They were a sharp contrast against the off-white marble. And they were long. Longer than they were 3 months ago. He stretched out and flipped over.
An ant found its way to her hair and attempted to reach her face.. he flicked it off. And smiled at her. She smiled back and returned to looking at the sky. She slowly closed her eyes and turned her face away from him.
He thought about how soft her hair was as he twirled a lock of her hair around his fingers. It went round and round.. and then he saw her looking at him. He turned away and folded his arms.
He tried not to wonder. He tried not to stare. It was not as if he didn't like her..
On the blanket, smelling the rain, looking at the sky, glasses of coke, having the time of their life. She stuffed the last popcorn left in the bowl and laughed at him. He didn't care. All he cared for, was at that very moment, stuck in time, was for her to be happy. For her to be mine, he thought. Can she be mine? Will she be mine?
He lodged his hands behind his head and wondered. Thoughts raced, skipped and jumped through his mind and he lay there, still, unmoving. Heart thumping. Words fumbling in his brain. Ideas buzzing around.. strewn all over the place.
And as it started, it shut down in a fraction of a second. He thought of nothing. Nothing. Didn't even want to think about it. Then she started to talk about a book she'd read the other day. And how some characted reminded her of him. She giggled and he noticed, for the hundredeth time maybe, how the corners of her eyes crinkled when she smiled.
Moments passed.
His hair looked nice, they always did. And as if one cue he ran his hands through his hair, goind halfway and then all the way, then to his side. Like he always did, it was almost his trademark. And then he scatrched his nose and smiled.
She fished out her i-pod from her pocket and took a second to admire her immaculate shiny black nails. The earphones thumped to life and she tried ineffectively to ignore her emotions and was suddenly reminded of how this song used to remind her of someone.. someone who was with her right now.
Someone who was probably thinking about something as trivial as what he'd have for dinner today. She pulled at tugged at her thoughts to keep them from straying but her will power was never known to be strong.
She stared at knees of his jeans, it was the perfect shade of blue, worn-out and old. Torn at some places. It was his favourite. His brown eyes looked pensive, the best they could look. Not that they were anything less, anytime else..
While he contemplated if he was going insane or something else as unlikely.. he was never the one to carry his heart on his sleeve.. and he never would be. Well, if she liked him back, she'll tell him, that's for sure, he thought. He's not a teller.
Thumping music drowned out her heartbeat somewhat and and tried to supress her feelings, and it was hard. She'd accepted long ago that nothing was going to come out of coming right out with emotions. Intense emotions. She'd never freaked anyone out. And neither did she want to, ever.
Ofcourse, the fact that she liked him from the moment they talked the first time wasn't of much special importance when she thought about it. That's the difference between what actually happens and what we want to see happen.
They were friends. That should be good enough. She tried to dissipate her thoughts by going back to reality, to what was happenind in the god-forsaken real world.
She said something, he couldn't quite hear what she said..
"Huh?" And he leaned in, while she repeated. And she laughed again.
He didn't listen in. Again. Instead, he leaned in a bit more. And he smelled her hair. It was enticing. He couldn't quite place the fragrance.. it was something between citrusy and a sweet sharpness.. and her skin, it smelled earthy..
He pulled himself back, took a deep breath.. and started humming a song. And he lightly beat his head on the floor. Inconpicuously. She whistled a tune. The same tune. They had the same tune. They were tuned. In. As he thought this, he wondered about what he was turning into.
And there they lay, oblivious to each other's feelings, turning over in their mind thoughts unsaid. Well, someone did say some things were better left unsaid.
A perfect example was when both pondered, and weighed and rejected the idea but still proclaimed to their parallel best friends in parallel worlds in parallel alien languages, they said the three words and sealed their lips to fate.
Time wore on. She offered an earphone to him. He was about to ask for it anyway. As the song ended.. they felt that it was time already.
She stuffed back the ipod into her pocket. He grabbed his shoes. And asking each other, "Dinner?" "I'm hungry." "You're always hungry.".. they got up, straightened and headed downstairs.
The empty glasses and bowls were left there. It was mandatory. It didn't matter. It was habit.
It was cold outside. But still warmer than when they were freezing in the AC, but neither of them had a problem with that. It was mandatory. It was habit.
They had studied all day. They were tired. And now they lay, out on the roof. Exhausted. It was almost a quarter to ten. The floor of the roof felt cold even through the blanket they'd spread out.
Her fingers played with the thin layer of dust on the floor. And he let out a sigh of relief. Her hair were half sprawled on the floor. They were a sharp contrast against the off-white marble. And they were long. Longer than they were 3 months ago. He stretched out and flipped over.
An ant found its way to her hair and attempted to reach her face.. he flicked it off. And smiled at her. She smiled back and returned to looking at the sky. She slowly closed her eyes and turned her face away from him.
He thought about how soft her hair was as he twirled a lock of her hair around his fingers. It went round and round.. and then he saw her looking at him. He turned away and folded his arms.
He tried not to wonder. He tried not to stare. It was not as if he didn't like her..
On the blanket, smelling the rain, looking at the sky, glasses of coke, having the time of their life. She stuffed the last popcorn left in the bowl and laughed at him. He didn't care. All he cared for, was at that very moment, stuck in time, was for her to be happy. For her to be mine, he thought. Can she be mine? Will she be mine?
He lodged his hands behind his head and wondered. Thoughts raced, skipped and jumped through his mind and he lay there, still, unmoving. Heart thumping. Words fumbling in his brain. Ideas buzzing around.. strewn all over the place.
And as it started, it shut down in a fraction of a second. He thought of nothing. Nothing. Didn't even want to think about it. Then she started to talk about a book she'd read the other day. And how some characted reminded her of him. She giggled and he noticed, for the hundredeth time maybe, how the corners of her eyes crinkled when she smiled.
Moments passed.
His hair looked nice, they always did. And as if one cue he ran his hands through his hair, goind halfway and then all the way, then to his side. Like he always did, it was almost his trademark. And then he scatrched his nose and smiled.
She fished out her i-pod from her pocket and took a second to admire her immaculate shiny black nails. The earphones thumped to life and she tried ineffectively to ignore her emotions and was suddenly reminded of how this song used to remind her of someone.. someone who was with her right now.
Someone who was probably thinking about something as trivial as what he'd have for dinner today. She pulled at tugged at her thoughts to keep them from straying but her will power was never known to be strong.
She stared at knees of his jeans, it was the perfect shade of blue, worn-out and old. Torn at some places. It was his favourite. His brown eyes looked pensive, the best they could look. Not that they were anything less, anytime else..
While he contemplated if he was going insane or something else as unlikely.. he was never the one to carry his heart on his sleeve.. and he never would be. Well, if she liked him back, she'll tell him, that's for sure, he thought. He's not a teller.
Thumping music drowned out her heartbeat somewhat and and tried to supress her feelings, and it was hard. She'd accepted long ago that nothing was going to come out of coming right out with emotions. Intense emotions. She'd never freaked anyone out. And neither did she want to, ever.
Ofcourse, the fact that she liked him from the moment they talked the first time wasn't of much special importance when she thought about it. That's the difference between what actually happens and what we want to see happen.
They were friends. That should be good enough. She tried to dissipate her thoughts by going back to reality, to what was happenind in the god-forsaken real world.
She said something, he couldn't quite hear what she said..
"Huh?" And he leaned in, while she repeated. And she laughed again.
He didn't listen in. Again. Instead, he leaned in a bit more. And he smelled her hair. It was enticing. He couldn't quite place the fragrance.. it was something between citrusy and a sweet sharpness.. and her skin, it smelled earthy..
He pulled himself back, took a deep breath.. and started humming a song. And he lightly beat his head on the floor. Inconpicuously. She whistled a tune. The same tune. They had the same tune. They were tuned. In. As he thought this, he wondered about what he was turning into.
And there they lay, oblivious to each other's feelings, turning over in their mind thoughts unsaid. Well, someone did say some things were better left unsaid.
A perfect example was when both pondered, and weighed and rejected the idea but still proclaimed to their parallel best friends in parallel worlds in parallel alien languages, they said the three words and sealed their lips to fate.
Time wore on. She offered an earphone to him. He was about to ask for it anyway. As the song ended.. they felt that it was time already.
She stuffed back the ipod into her pocket. He grabbed his shoes. And asking each other, "Dinner?" "I'm hungry." "You're always hungry.".. they got up, straightened and headed downstairs.
The empty glasses and bowls were left there. It was mandatory. It didn't matter. It was habit.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)