Liebe.

She shivers, making hisses of condensed air which fogs up her skewed glasses as she blows into her palms, trying to transfer some bodily heat to her numbing fingers. Tucking her worn and faded purple jacket closer, she makes another attempt in tackling the problems. With a crooked black mechanical pencil held tightly in hand, neat and tidy letters slowly fill up the thin white paper as she scrawls on and on. Unbeknownst to her, evident lines of each letter began appearing on the stack of writing paper underneath, imprinted due to her powerful and heavy strokes. She hunches forward ever so slightly as she becomes more and more engrossed by the problem at hand, her nose almost touching the paper. Then, she looks up suddenly, adjusting her ever-dropping spectacles with a slight off-handed motion of her hand as she notices my scrutiny for the past fifteen minutes or so.

“What?” she asked incredulously as I smiled.  

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night.

It's that time of the year, again.

It seems counter-intuitive to keep going at this, but I just couldn't let this go. I deigned to consider a more sophisticated choice of lifestyle, unwilling to accept life's brevity and frailty. I struggled; fearful of potential criticism, hopeful of unwarranted praise. It is never by design that I seek to accomplish so much, yet always falling short. Still, I promise to try again. 

I just want to live with no ragrets. Not even a single letter, never again.

(Not)Incandescent

You won't know what was lost until it already far too late. There's no precedence to crying over spilled milk; you might as well get a new carton and drown yourself in that sweet white stuff. For the lactose intolerant, just drown yourself in regular water.

Besides wry humor, there's little I can afford to offer the world.

These things are getting shorter and shorter, I'm afraid I've finally lost it.

To be.

There are better things to be.

Being disciplined.
Stoic and steadfast.

Being athletic.
Fit and fast.

Being at peace.
Calm and collected.

Being free.
Willful and wild.

but why?

Bienvenue.

Hi there.

Have you miss this?

"The shortness of breath as you gallop across an open field, green as far as the horizon. Well, technically the horse you're riding on does all the galloping. You just try to hold on for the ride. Taking in the vastness of the blue sky, clouds and all. Wind billowing against your face, hair's a bloody mess. Relentless, you ride forward, onward, frontward. Ahead. Into the unknown."

I know I have.