a silver plated butter knife.

A typical Sunday night.

We finally had a civilized supper - no arguments, no tears, just silence. for once.

"It's not you." You said.

-

"coffee, just for a while." fine.

Despite all the cut throat tension in the air. We did it.

I sat at our "usual" table, waiting. You were late... again. But this time you noticed my disappointment from the twisted smirk I gave you; you apologized because after all, you're the one who invited me.

Awkward. You stared at the menu, hiding half of your face, as I gave my order to the waiter. the usual please.

I kept my eyes over at the empty table across the room, avoiding the sight of your face - trying to fight the urge to literally stab you with the butter knife.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You said. "About..."

"No. I don't."

Silence fell on us again. Wondering, why the hell am I here again?

All that was running through my head was a quote from Lord of the Rings that you told me once.

Which one?

"How do you pick up the threads of an old life?
How do you go on, when in your heart, you begin to understand, there is no going back?
There are some things that time cannot mend.
Some hurts that go too deep…that have taken hold."

Word to word, I remember all of it.

Back to the story.

One cappuccino light-foam soy milk and double chocolate sprinkles, the usual.

"Look. I called you here because I want to talk about it." You told me, in a demanding voice.

"What's there to talk about?"

"It's not you."

"I know."

I knew it wasn't me. I knew what I was getting myself into. I knew you could never love me. I had so much sorrow inside - you could never reach.

There was nothing you could've done to change anything. What's been done can't be undone. No matter how hard I wish we could have, I knew we couldn't - you were perfect.

Despite all of it, what you've done to me and what you've told me, your face is forever forged in the back of my memories.

It's not you - it's the idea of you.

written by M.

a smile to make a day

Usually, I won't post up videos or link to random crap.

But I have to show this video because it brought some laughter to an otherwise disappointing night.

p.s. i love you

"All I know is, if you don't figure out this something, you'll just stay ordinary; and it doesn't matter if its a work of art or a taco, or a pair of socks!

Just create something new, and there it is, and its you, out in the world, out side of you and you can look at it, or hear it, or read it, or feel it... and you know a little more about... you.

A little bit more than anyone else does... Does that make any sense at all?"


"Yeah... you're saying you want to paint socks."


"Maybe!"

-

If you know someone who tries to drown their sorrows, you might tell them sorrows know how to swim.

p.s. i love you.

blue grass is still grass

It started with the question,

"Why do you seem different in front of other people?"

Is it wrong to be different to a person compared to the other?

Disregard the ideas of favoritism, discrimination, racism and just plain 'bias-ness' for a moment. If a person seem to communicate, share interests, and rather generally behave differently to one clique compared to another, is the person guilty of being wrong? fake? Even if he/she shares an equal compassion, importance to all of them?

People have this tainted image of people being different in front of others as being abusive, opportunists, again fakes. They see 'these kind of people' as nothing more than just people who'd bend over backwards for someone just for their own advantage; using people as assets - not caring anymore once they were deem useless. Using them as favors for their own personal needs and gains.

Others, see more of the usual 'high school' approach, where they see these people merely adapting to the clique to gain acceptance - the sense of belonging. A sense of desperation to overcome ones own loneliness. To achieve popularity, even.

Basically, giving a guilty verdict of not being ones true self.

Notice how I wrote these people as 'being' different in front of others instead of 'acting' different in front of others.

Now, let me ask you.

Is it not possible for someone's true identity is to just be different?

Would it be so hard to believe that the only constant criteria of a person is constant change?


Without a doubt, there are those driven to be different from just being afraid. Afraid that their skeletons of the past would along bring judgment and exile. Afraid to open up to others because they're used to the comfort and openness of the selected few. Then there are those those just afraid, afraid to shatter whatever's left of a once strong bond by safely choosing their words and holding their desired intents.

Someone of us, choose to be different. We do not mean harm or wish to abuse anyone. We simply enjoy the diversity - the mixture.

" The only reason why I seem different in front of them compared to you guys is because, you can never forget your own stripes."

-M , the fourth stripe.

in memories, we remember

Along our journey, we've forged a lot memories.

Some more valuable than others. Some, no matter how many times I'd think back, will always bring a smile to my face. Several we'd call 'bitter sweet nothings' - moments we'd think we would be better off forgetting, but actually moments which gave us new found respect/appreciation (hope?).

You once said to me,

"The measure of a person is not by their mistakes, but the decisions they make from them."

Til' this day, I live by this code. Or at least, somewhat of it. I remember you continued saying something about "... and the path we follow but not the trails we left behind."


And to think, a few years ago, you're the one who said

"For goodness sake, buy some jeans. You're bloody seventeen not twenty-five, stop wearing those awful slacks."

Hey, they were Dockers. They're very comfortable and they were coffee-stain-proof.


Anyway,
you taught me never to render myself useless when stricken down.

Remember what he said? "Eventually life is gonna give you a right hook to the face, and you have two choices. You can either whinge about it, or get some freakin' ice."

Do you remember what else you told me?

"It's not the money, the car, the rank you carry that defines you. It's the people who you surround yourself with - the people you touch in their time of need and the people who stood by you whenever you fall."

Wherever the hell you are in the world, just remember. I'm here if you need me.

Cheer up, love.

p.s. I know once you read this you're gonna freakin' e-mail on how I've used too many quotations, it looks messy bla bla bla. Shut up, you're not bloody editor. lol

A Shipwreck In The Sand

Once upon a time.

Before the lakes and rivers were polluted,
before the animals were poached to extinction,
and before man had destroyed the earth's atmosphere,

there was a great ship.

This vessel was to venture into new waters, to find new resources, to make life easier and more enjoyable.

It was a simple mission for the crew, who were excited to be a part of this union. They pledged their allegiance to the captain, and vowed to be there no matter what - in sickness, health, and possible death.

As time passed by, there was no new land to be found. As the days grew shorter and the nights grew longer and colder, the crew became more and more skeptical about the captain's vision.

Originally passionate and committed, true and faithful, they began to revolt.

"You've crossed the line. I was honest, I never promised anything.
Just a brotherhood to stand for something.
And everyone should take the lead, follow your dreams.
If you don't try, you fail."

And as the mutiny started and the captain was overthrown and chained, he asked them why their minds had changed.

"There's no gold to be found, no treasures in the ground.

We won't die for this, we won't die for you."

His dream is now a shipwreck in the sand. They gave up, they made all their demands.
The storm consumed fifty-seven souls who died in vain, his love - they stole.

This union, a battle fought and lost.
This union was not about the cause.
This union was never about love.


by Neil Boshart, Josh Bradford and Paul Koehler.

to the crooked decrees and twisted ordinances, we believe in.

Not now,

Despite that scent of an aging longing,
I'm not ready - blind to the obvious,
Yet I can't help but to give in.
Bitter to my own advice.

Not yet.

M
I.O

"let me fall, sil vous plait? "

under the knife, do you believe we will ever make it?

9.50 am.

I woke up to a song which sings "Wake me up inside, tell me there's a reason.". You rang.

Another morning? Hardly.

"A glimpse is better than nothing, right?" you said. Heh. Right, fine.

-
And faintly you came tapping, tapping on my shoulder. Without a doubt, I knew it was you. A stunning beauty in a dark beige trench coat and an oh-so-familiar necklace, glimmering.

We both gave our usual greets followed by the whole "It's been ages!" ice breaker.

For a good thirty minutes in the evening, we both sat there. With our cupcakes at hand; I told you my story, you laughed and out came the sarcastic remarks. Despite the rather long and adolescent rant, you sat there with a face that understood every single word of it.

I smiled. Because at the end of the tormenting taunts, I knew you'd give me some sense of so called "peace" - and you did.

You gave me a long glance and said "What do you expect?"

"Hmm?"

You shrugged and said "You got what you asked for. Just that what you asked, isn't really what you wanted."

One would wonder, why ask for something that you don't want?

And before I could barely finish "I'd rather have..."

"...a glimpse than nothing at all?" you uttered and smiled.


How did he put it? "If you can't get the whole pie, ask for a slice."


To think the last time we both met, we waltz to our hearts content. Good times. Sorry for the ankle bruises.

The time came for you leave and we both knew it will be a while til' our next encounter. We exchanged laughs, as if our goodbyes had become quite a common routine - a friendly hug.

And so you left; you brought along to your departure, my secret - a secret so many know about, yet so few really understand.


Til' we meet again.

mute the tv, i'm trying to be emo

To say it's been a while would be quite an understatement.

After finally being able to gain access to the web, I am reminded of a statement told from a friend while I was back.

She said "You'd know when he's back when he starts writing again.". Suggesting I only write when ...yeah you get the point.

So here's to you Aimi and happy birthday. My gift to you, a new post. Enjoy.

-

"Beauty is in the details."

You can't really appreciate something (or someone) until you've noticed the small details.

Whether it's the smooth texture of an oil painted wonder, the subtle taste of Parmesan in a simple Greek soup, or her radiating smile from around the corner.

But then again, we grow unwary of these 'small details'. Sometimes forced upon us to finally realizing them - like the whole "You'd only miss something, once it's gone." shenanigans from part three.

Others, so focused on one agenda that they become so oblivious to what's around them. Not seeing what's right next to them, waiting.

Now, details could also mean the attachment it brings - their history.

Right.

Like an old silver ring I found from a box of old things which is engraved with the word 'Horde' which to the naked eye seems like another piece of cheap jewelery.

But along with it came great memories which undoubtedly shape who I am today. Such as the constant guidance that was taught, the painful memories of disbanding and meeting again in blood and tears. Times where staying up til 5am was a common routine and a new meaning to the word "squishy" is born.

And yes, there was a hint of jealousy, anger, regret and again oh so much pain. Especially, that unforgettable teary moment over "vent" that fueled me with guilt and self-anger. Sorry again love.

However, at the end of it, gave birth to one of the strongest friendship that could possibly be forged by mankind and the wide smile from the adolescent joy that comes with it.


You'll be greatly missed, Jermaine.