I missed sleeping early on a Saturday night, and waking up late on a Sunday morning.
I missed writing on every single page of my journal, and reading them a year after.
I missed planning everything in life, and nothing on a rainy Sunday afternoon.
I missed making a cup after a cup after a cup of coffee just for myself alone.
I missed standing by the window watching the rain skitter down the windowpane.
I missed the sound of the rain pelting on an old tin roof.
I missed sitting in a coffeeshop from midnight to sunrise with one crazy friend who blends to all my weird and out-of-this-world conversation I serve on the coffee table.
I missed looking out of the window to wish upon the craters of the Moon instead on stars.
I missed walking on damped side roads, and smell the petrichor of the Earth arising from the wet grass.
I missed the luminous effect drawn on the water by the light from a nearby light post.
I missed the cool night breeze like a metal flattened on my cheeks.
I missed the hisses of the crickets, the whooshes of the leaves, and the fading dog barks from a faraway alley.
I missed the days when I was misanthrope and romantic at the same time.
I don’t know why, but in a scale of 1 to everything, I still ask ~ Why?
When the probability of randomness and disorder in my little world is much higher than the probability of having everything intact,
When 10 seconds ago was way sweeter and more familiar than 10 seconds after which is foreign and strange,
When I get too much of reality,
~ I open a page either to read or to write. Read the rest of this entry »