What an antic and odd world we live in… full of creatures coming from different eras… entirely different times…

Some seek praise in desperation and some feed them with attention… some dream big hopelessly, while some are engrossed in daydreaming… some smile at their future love and some learn how to hurt us and carry on… some know how to fly and some are unfaithful to the sky… their heart is black; they don’t feel white… they only see black and white… some conduct then play it hard; that’s when the king kills the knight…

… and at end of it all, they all seek a crystal heart as pleasing as the heart of palm…

S

It’s humid… she likes it sticky and humid.

Who would ever get inspired in the stickiest air, in the darkness, where the smell of old papers seldom becomes unbearable, and when the rest of the world lighting up their tobacco sticks, then sipping on their by-now empty glasses… Oh, the coldest liquids crawling down their throats at the corner bars, while getting all burnt inside out by the warmth of the May sun.

She, who sees the innocent faces in their blue carts, smiling at the strangest strangers in their eyes… she, who sees the elderly ladies, getting offered reddish seats by high school kids… and she, who sees the same guy, begging for a loonie to feed his drunken thought right after the sun fades into the darkened night… Yes, she still gets energized by many souls around and reminds her own to love the world more than the past.

The clock at her stop reads 5:36 post meridiem… It’s still humid and she likes it pretty humid!

S

– The train started its journey and I’m on it.
– What are you seeing out of the window?
– Gray blocks and a blue sky, which is changing its color to match the blocks.
– Oh, blue giving way to pink?
– Kind of. Oh, and the guy in green is looking at the same sky. Stunning!
– Stunning sky or guy? Is he mixed with pink too?
– (Smile)

“I’m not like John Lennon, who thought he was the great Almighty. I just think I’m John Lennon.”

— Noel Gallagher

Counting the lines;
the yellow
ones.

Fighting the motion;
the sickening
thoughts.

Waiting for the next song;
those upcoming
stops.

Smiling at the
graffiti;
and you
in my mind,
who breaks my heart;
not so distressful
after all.

Crying for the
dead grass
seized in between the same
lines;
dislike our parallel
lives.

… still wondering loud,
who’s in charge of our *love*?

S

“When you love someone, you don’t want them to suffer at all.”

— Charlotte Gainsbourg

Hmmm…

… Yes, it was Friday, September 14, 2007 @ 12:39 Ante Meridiem.

S

He is sitting on the other side of the train, looking good… as for me, I’m listening to Tori, reading the New Yorker article on Alba’s apartment… and in between, I take a glance (though a lingering one) at him while he is reading his paper.

S

“Memory is a wonderful thing if you don’t have to deal with the past.”

— Ethan Hawke

Okay, I know this is going to sound a bit freaky… I got hit on the temple by (or better say my head got caught in between) the train’s sliding doors… the driver decided to open and close the doors in less than three seconds and didn’t realize that some poor passenger would find herself on the floor, having been hit on the side of her head, one leg stuck inside and the rest of her body outside on the platform, in total panic and surrounded by people looking at her in shock, asking her if she was fine!

Life goes on, just like the train which continued its ride and left me wondering in surprise… the good thing is that I’m alive and my headache is gone… looking on the bright side, I now appreciate life even more than before and keep repeating to myself that *life is too short*.

Oh, and NO… unlike what my close circle told me I should have done, I didn’t sue the Toronto Transit Commission!

S