hey baby.. its no secret to you that i'm one of few words. i cannot simply tell you what i want to say without jotting it down. So here i am (again) at your blog and you decide if it is appropriate to put it out; im saving it as draft.

Time just streams by. And people come and go. And sometimes they stay around for some time, and sometimes they leave, and sometimes they stick around forever. And sometimes time gushes like water from a dam, and there were laughter and booze, and pajama parties and surprises. And it also trickles like a spoilt tap, and there were unkind words and tears and periods of remission. But in no point of time should we ever remain in that dark dark period. I know what you are thinking, ya i'm too sentimental for my own good. But i still think love is everything. When there is love, there is hope.

The answer is somewhat depressing, and you should be counting your blessings. You should be grateful for all the attention from above and here. You should be working hard and count the chicks when they do hatch. You should be doing alot of things that you may not feel like doing but absolutely have to. You shouldn't be "basking" in your unwillingness to face the music. You probably ought to be less devoted to your love.

But then again, how many things happened in reality today? How many hearts were truly broken? and how much tears freely flowed? Too many. I have no idea why she let it happen, i am in no right to comment either. Baby it hurts seeing you like this, as much as the hurt you go through seeing her like how she is.

You are the perfect man, no doubt. This is the first time i see you in such a horrendous state, giving all and your pumping organ. I can't bear to see the blood dripping when your chest is slit open. As difficult as it is, life goes on. You made me a better person, i want to make you one too.

She probably is an angel, else there is no other way your delicate tears would have fallen. I would very much like to meet her, to witness what a phenomenon she actually is. But till then, be strong baby.


One Art

The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

-Elizabeth Bishop





i suppose u know who i am, don't you?

Xuan: yea i noe who u r... i read this the same way everybody did. u published it lar... nt draft. stupid...