Sunday, August 21, 2005
Wordless
It's funny, I had all these things to write over the weekend, but right here, right now, I don't feel like writing about them anymore.
Somewhere in there are vague memories about sunlight, warmth, water, and a tan that didn't materialise.
There are other memories too, memories of emotions that I didn't particularly relish; memories that should belong to someone else... foreign, younger, angrier emotions that I am unaccustomed to.
There are memories of glancing askance in a taxi at a sleeping woman and feeling... something. Something that always feels on the fringe of memory - strange, since it's happened a few times now, recently, as I glanced askance with my hands on the wheel... strange that it always feels like a half-awakened memory.
There are slightly fresher memories too of lying on a deckchair overlooking the city skyline in the utter still of the Singaporean night, with a slightly bemused friend nearby trying to persuade me that Yoga is addictive...
*****
Words, Unspoken
Stolen from another blog...
"Watching her swing around and stalk away, her long hair billowing slightly with her body movements in the utter still of the humid Singaporean night, his gaze lingers for a moment on her shoulders - that perfect shoulder to hip ratio... he thinks to himself. I must be clinically insane, to pass up someone like that.
I hope she finds someone who can love her for her hidden wit, and for her patient silence.
Somewhere in there are vague memories about sunlight, warmth, water, and a tan that didn't materialise.
There are other memories too, memories of emotions that I didn't particularly relish; memories that should belong to someone else... foreign, younger, angrier emotions that I am unaccustomed to.
There are memories of glancing askance in a taxi at a sleeping woman and feeling... something. Something that always feels on the fringe of memory - strange, since it's happened a few times now, recently, as I glanced askance with my hands on the wheel... strange that it always feels like a half-awakened memory.
There are slightly fresher memories too of lying on a deckchair overlooking the city skyline in the utter still of the Singaporean night, with a slightly bemused friend nearby trying to persuade me that Yoga is addictive...
*****
Words, Unspoken
Stolen from another blog...
"Watching her swing around and stalk away, her long hair billowing slightly with her body movements in the utter still of the humid Singaporean night, his gaze lingers for a moment on her shoulders - that perfect shoulder to hip ratio... he thinks to himself. I must be clinically insane, to pass up someone like that.
I hope she finds someone who can love her for her hidden wit, and for her patient silence.
