swallows a one-sided face and spits out a double-edged blade that cuts.
That isn’t the fault of the printer, by any stretch.
Today, I opened Tumblr to realise that the person I was following to write alongside with stopped.
My words have stalled – having nothing to prompt me since I replied all my other trains of thought and then I thought again, that I hadn’t been that reliant.
It was just nice to have something more to read.
If I knew who the writer was, I would tell them that their first post was on wanting to improve as a writer. I remember that much, at least.
That despite thinking so poorly of their starting standard (which was good anyway), they wanted to write and write and get better.
So, don’t be sorry. And don’t say it’s not for you. Not that it’s never for you, it could be.
I don’t think it’s madness to keep repeating something and expect a different answer.
I believe that at some point in time the response will be different.
i want to believe that it’s ok to try.
(if you know the writer would you please pass along this message that it’s really okay and that I’ll be waiting for another day’s?)
My little sister told me that she saw a meterwite.
I paused in the middle of work that I set for myself because of social obligation and my fear that if I put it off then later I’ll have to rush the way I see my friends are now.
It’s not really fair that our timeline is later than theirs but I’m still grateful. I’d feel safer knowing our timeline but not knowing it means that it’s not ridiculously tight.
At least I trust the person who knows this timeline will remind us at important enough times, so since that person hasn’t, I did a small part and started here.
My little sister clarifies, telling me that “Shooting stars are meteorites that have fallen into the Earth’s atmosphere and burn up.”
I nod readily enough, having never questioned that she saw it – though she substantiated her point with enough factual things that I think are true, enough to convince me that she did see a brilliant flash of light.
My friend told me earlier this week that the main Lyrid event was over the week before.
I just asked, “Did you make a wish?” She did – almost told me till I told her, “You can’t if you want it to come true.”
She went to bed after that.
The printer, right. My parents brought home a printer that takes up a third of the space of my table, but it prints double sided so I guess I won’t have to manually key in 1,3,5,7,9,11,13…to 31+ and the reverse to print double-sided history notes.
I hope the paper doesn’t jam.
There’s a building whose light never dies,
lamps that never shut off and fans whose blades always fly.
Across the road and in the distance but within sight,
tessellations of sunburst rectangles that sparkle – eyes bright ready to cry.
Purpled view turns yellow light white like fright does to your skin,
but that doesn’t change the fact that the light is a warm one.
With even less bearing is the wind that blows in through the windows,
cold and like a ghost phasing through you,
causing a shiver to run up your shadows.
No point, much less coherence or even a single idea –
I forget why I write too.