You've got mail. <$BlogRSDUrl$>
<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d5621222\x26blogName\x3dYou\x27ve+got+mail.\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dSILVER\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttp://pyro23.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_US\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://pyro23.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d-1151650229955999858', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script> <script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.makepovertyhistory.org/whiteband_small_right.js"> </script><noscript><a href="http://www.makepovertyhistory.org/"> http://www.makepovertyhistory.org</a></noscript>

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Simply too early in the morning. (reposted) 

A conversation on Friday 6 October 2006, 1:32 am. Reposted for you.

Have I changed?

People change. We all do.

Yes, but have I?

*sigh* Yes, you have. You've changed.

In what way?

Which did you want? For the better or for the worse?

For the worse. I know I've changed for the worse.

Unfair to say that. You've changed, in some respects, yes, for the worse. But others for the better. I've changed. I know I have.

Do you ever doubt yourself?

Doubt myself?

Yes. Question yourself, your capabilities.

I always question myself. Sometimes people do things that surprise themselves. "Hey, I didn't know I could do that! Wow!". You know what I mean.

But you always seem so confident.

Seeming confident do not mean you are confident.

How can that be?

When you always seem confident, when you are seen to exude confidence, people assume you are confident. When you always seem tough, when you're always the one who doesn't panic, the one who is calm and collected, the one who sits down and thinks everything over, the one who thinks twice, that's what people assume you are like, and they rely on you. Everyone will rely on the you that they see, even if that's not the real you.

I dont understand.

When people see you as the strong one, they will rely on you. There would be many people relying on you, and you have no one to rely on, because you will be that one person whom people see as the strong one. And when one day you feel weak, or vulnerable, you will not be able to ask for help to anyone because you're supposed to be strong, tough. You're supposed to have all the solutions and therefore, have no problems to share. And when you do become weak, you cannot show it. Because the minute you show it, and people see how weak you really are, they become confused, because that is not the you that's in their heads. And they doubt you. It's hard when you have an image to maintain. It gets tiring after a while.

Yes. I think I'm starting to understand what you mean.

Good. Everything I've just said is bullshit. Forget them. I've lied to you. Now, milk is the best thing in the world. It goes with tea, coffee, chocolate, cereal... *drinks from the bottle*

|

Weblog Commenting and Trackback by HaloScan.com

Monday, March 23, 2009

Changes 

a
a
b
b

a
b
a
b

Poems. Bound by rules above. We used to learn this in school, making poems that rhyme as such. Funny chants that started with "There once was a man from Vermont". We racked our brains looking for terms that rhyme, and the lesser of us settled on "The cat, sat on, the mat". And then the Japanese, for one, stuck up their middle finger to European poetry and said "No. Not us. We shall begin our poetry with C, and end it with a Z, no rhyming whatsoever". And hence, haiku.

the women playing sitar
sound echoing in the valleys
the fish care not

Or something like that anyway.

Tupac would be pleasantly surprised to know that less than 15 years after his death, we see a black American president.

The only thing that escapes change is change itself. None of us can. Even our perception of God has changed. It took only a few hundred years for it to change from the jealous, war-loving God in the Old Testaments to the fatherly figure He is in the New Testament. Everything changes. Everyone changes. I can try and be naive, saying I haven't changed at all. The me I am last year is the same as the me I am now. But then we'd both be lying.

Romance has changed for me. Pizza and a movie or playing a video game together used to be romantic. It used to be enough. An arm around my shoulder used to make monkeys jump in my stomach, and the very idea of flowers used to make me go "Yuck!". But that was a very, very long time ago. Now? Now I want flowers. Kisses in the dark that fall a little off my lips. Lip-syncing to a song for me. Warm hugs that tighten, tighter, I can't breathe... I don't mind... more, please? Waking up under an arm so relaxed around me I can't even move. Tucking me in with his body, pretending I want to get away. Public kisses that were meant only for me. An occasionally overbearing jealousy... occasionally. I want it all now. Even... marriage proposals.

she smiles of love
her hands on his heart
beating fast
the world
irrelevant


Playlist:
* glenn fredly feat. jamie aditya - good times
* andien - tentang aku
* after - seperti

|

Weblog Commenting and Trackback by HaloScan.com

Friday, March 20, 2009

Incognito 

Maybe because now I know nobody's looking. Maybe.. just maybe.

Can I make this your permanent letterbox? I can't seem to reach you every single day, although I would muchly prefer having you tucked in a glass case near my heart, or tattooed on the tips of my fingers, where it hurts most, or so they say. Who are they, again?

For we, my dear, who are special to them are special to each other are special to me. Why? Because we, my dear, are we. You see? It's elementary what I'm trying to say. It's what I'm trying to hide that you should be wary of. But then again, it's only me. How frightening can I be to you?

Don't find meaning in my words, dear. You'll only find yourself questioning, and that's where I always leave you. Am I not more intriguing when you know not what I mean? What does that look signify? What is going through her head? Why did she do that? Why didn't she? Why won't she just..... why?

Too many Y's here.

It's raining outside. I love the chill seeping through my windows. I secretly enjoy getting goosebumps, especially those that run from the back of my neck.. to my collarbone.. down my nipples and to the base of my stomach.

And now, knowing me for me, I will meticulously check every word for spelling errors, grammatical errors, always always always looking for mistakes. You're right. I'm bad at rejection. I withdraw into my cave and tell myself I'm not worth it... not worth it.. not worth it... Rocking myself to normality, knowing I'll never get there.

Now do you see how truly sick I am?

Hold my hand, dear. It's going to get dark. But I think I'll know the way. And if a stranger kisses you in the dark, kiss back. I'm here. Hold my hand. I think I know the way...

|

Weblog Commenting and Trackback by HaloScan.com

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?