Tuesday, August 24, 2004
Seven
The weather's changed more times today than a female out shopping changes her mind. :p The people passing my window have alternately been bundled up against the cold, shielded against the rain, and right now are enjoying the sun in their light T shirts. Ha, more fool them, I bet it hails later this evening.
I've been indoors all through the day trying to be good and reading my pastest MRCS revision notes text in fits and starts. It's just too boring for words, which probably explains why I've been writing so much drivel.
Anyhow, another thought came to this rather saturated mind, courtesy of "ahbeng" who posted this as a comment (reproduced without his permission...)
"Yes, there was a Her in my life once. I think it took me about 7 years (ain't that a nice number) to get over her. I had these fantasies of being run over while cycling and having on me a letter that said to look for her and tell her I still loved her. *puke*"
Ah, Seven. That magic number. They even made a movie about it.
I don't think I'd ever do that. Tell You that I still love You.
It *has* been just about seven years since we last saw each other. There're days, mired as I am in the cold pragmatism of shiny, cynical London when it feels like my memories - of something good and remarkable, inside my head at least - are so distant that they feel like they belong to someone else.
I do love Your memory. But You, today - I don't know You.
I don't know where You come from.
And if there's one thing I don't do - it's lie. Not if I can help it.
And that would be a self-serving lie.
If I were to die unexpectedly (God forbid) - I'd rather You knew the Truth.
I've been indoors all through the day trying to be good and reading my pastest MRCS revision notes text in fits and starts. It's just too boring for words, which probably explains why I've been writing so much drivel.
Anyhow, another thought came to this rather saturated mind, courtesy of "ahbeng" who posted this as a comment (reproduced without his permission...)
"Yes, there was a Her in my life once. I think it took me about 7 years (ain't that a nice number) to get over her. I had these fantasies of being run over while cycling and having on me a letter that said to look for her and tell her I still loved her. *puke*"
Ah, Seven. That magic number. They even made a movie about it.
I don't think I'd ever do that. Tell You that I still love You.
It *has* been just about seven years since we last saw each other. There're days, mired as I am in the cold pragmatism of shiny, cynical London when it feels like my memories - of something good and remarkable, inside my head at least - are so distant that they feel like they belong to someone else.
I do love Your memory. But You, today - I don't know You.
I don't know where You come from.
And if there's one thing I don't do - it's lie. Not if I can help it.
And that would be a self-serving lie.
If I were to die unexpectedly (God forbid) - I'd rather You knew the Truth.
