If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die.

Παρασκευή 30 Αυγούστου 2013

Idle Friday

Sitting on my porch... How come I never thought of placing the light like that? I like it like this. It's better, more practical.

Cocktail. Candles. Cigarette. And Massive Attack on repeat.

Just an another day. An idle Friday night.

I slept with my window open last night; it was breezy.

Had my teeth cleaned. And I still can't get over how dentists insist on talking to you, trying to make 'conversation', when you have your mouth wide open.

Just another day?

I hugged my pillow so tight last night because I realized I won't be sleeping in my bed for some time. I love my bed. I'm emotionally attached to it.

I'm sitting on my porch because I won't do that for a while.

I hate August's last weekend; even though this summer passed like a breeze, a sad one, but a breeze nonetheless, I can't think of September without breaking into a cold sweat.

I looked at some pictures. There it was; that little thing in my eye. I could fool you if you don't know me very well; I could fool you so easily. There it was; the sadness. Blink and you'll miss it. Blink and you'll see me smiling again, shining like a new penny. You wouldn't even know. You couldn't. I wouldn't let you. But for a split second, I can't help it, keep it in and twinkle twinkle, there it is.

Idle Friday?

A friend becomes someone that you (thought) you used to know. And another, is just a frenemy. Is it arrogant to think that you're above it all, that you can handle it? That you can manage to keep the appropriate distance? Or plain stupid?

Who am I? What do I want and where do I want to go? Is it silly of me that I'm not as ambitious as I used to be? Maybe I'm too scared nowadays? Persuaded myself that I wouldn't make it anyway? I don't want to make it big, make shitloads of money. I want to be loved. I want a home, not a house.

Would you sacrifice your dreams for the one you love?

A simple text message, a few sentences. Straight from the heart. In all simple honesty. It's not about winning or losing; it's about letting a person know how alive they make you feel. How much at home. At peace. Like, when it's cold outside, your shoes get wet from the rain and your toes are so cold you can't feel them. And then, you come home, you take off your shoes and put on warm socks. That kind of warmth.

Cocktail. Candles. Cigarette. And Massive Attack on repeat.

Just an another day.

Sitting on my porch.

An idle Friday night.


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