Window A

there's something special about talking deep into the night about just anything and everything. the proverbial wall is rising brick by brick and the bridge we've built has crumbled. i miss the way it was. i want to stuff time back its silly ass and go back to how it used to be. funny how we're always talking about the future when all i want is to pull my security blanket back over my head and hide.

sometimes it feels as though a good cry would be able to settle everything. but all that does is make my face red and blotchy and sticky as well as purge my body of some salt and urea. it sometimes feels as if all that has happened is too surreal. that perhaps if i claw my way through this false imagery i'd find out that, hey. things -did- turn out the way it was supposed to after all.

it's at this point that i realise that (haha :) chinese is a much prettier language than english to express sorrow and anguish without it sounding overly cheesy and lameass. but. my blog somehow cannot read the chinese encoding so too bad.