犹如浪花自我摧残，只为那瞬间的灿烂；
我也希望拥有那勇气为那一瞬间而努力。
可那无头绪地直往岩石猛撞的海浪，是勇气还是傻气？
每一次的受伤或许会让一个人成长更多
也会把一个人逼到极限；
到了崖边，
傻气和勇气之间那条细线在哪里，
握跨过去了踩上去了却站在哪边了？
站在海边等着海浪化为浪花的那一刻，那个完美的瞬间按下的快门，
捉住的是浪花的璀璨还是独自旅行的无限自由？
捉住的是浪花的摧残还是独自旅行的无限寂寞？
Monday, May 22, 2017
Some Days, I Miss You
Some days, I miss you.
Like the wolf missing the moon when it ducks behind a cloud,
like the river missing the sea who accepts and accepts, and accepts,
like the broken-winged missing the sky who was everything good in the world
Did you take my eyes when you took my heart?
My sense of smell, my tongue, your touch
I lost it all
In that (un)forgotten pocket of shared heat
Months ago
We melted ice
creamed between the brief feathery touches
and equally feathery kisses
Feathery emotions,
dandelions, scattered in
gusts of winds.
Lost.
I lost the map back to you
I lost my soul and everything that told me what I was
I left it with you
I left you.
And some Days, I miss you.
but I cannot go near you--
I fear my sanity;
I fear for yours.
I would rather not take the risk of crushing, of shattering;
Instead,
I'll just risk cracking.
Wednesday, January 4, 2017
New Year Resolutions
1. I vow to stick to there resolutions. Yeah, right, good luck with that
2. Study. Not fanfiction. Not novels. Study Medicine-Related Stuff. But Drakeypoo is so adorbs how can you not?
2. Study. Not fanfiction. Not novels. Study Medicine-Related Stuff. But Drakeypoo is so adorbs how can you not?
3. Pick up after myself, EVERY TIME. And stop losing pens.
4. Stop fangirling over fictional or unattainable men/boys. HOW?! Maybe if you'll STOP making fabulous men/boys!
5. Only 2 Cheat Days allowed per week!! That means no more munching on Oreos secretly in the room every night.
6. 10,000 steps! Can I do em horizontally, preferably on a bed? With me in REM sleep?
7.Do laundry on time, i.e. every week. No more space in room to pile clothes, no more space in room to pile clothes.
8. Don't lose contact with your friends. But sometimes I just don't feel like talking. Or typing in a phone. Or exist.
9. Be content being single. I am content. Most of the time. Sometimes. When I'm in a good mood. Or asleep.
10. Find yourself. And don't lose yourself along the way. <3
Thursday, October 20, 2016
Anxious.
I no longer feel like I constantly have to be on the move, but now it takes too much time for me to start moving.
I no longer feel the urge to scream and cry, but now it feels like one day everything is going to burst in a great big explosion.
I no longer feel like I need to be in control, but now it feels like I'm losing control of everything that makes my life mine.
I no longer feel like I don't belong in this path I chose, but now I know that this is not where I belong.
I no longer know what I am or who I want. But now, I.
I.
I.
I.
I sometimes feel like going on a long drive and only stopping for petrol, with no one in the car but silence and my solitude.
I no longer feel the urge to scream and cry, but now it feels like one day everything is going to burst in a great big explosion.
I no longer feel like I need to be in control, but now it feels like I'm losing control of everything that makes my life mine.
I no longer feel like I don't belong in this path I chose, but now I know that this is not where I belong.
I no longer know what I am or who I want. But now, I.
I.
I.
I.
I sometimes feel like going on a long drive and only stopping for petrol, with no one in the car but silence and my solitude.
Monday, September 12, 2016
Mistake?
I suppose I should issue a warning :
Hormonal, emotional, negative, incredibly selfish writing below : Do not enter with judgement. Or rather, do not enter AT ALL.
Warning issued. I'm writing with no restraints whatsoever here. If you think I'm talking about you, you're probably right. Maybe.
Like I said, no restraints. That means my ethics is questionable in the following.
For once, I'm writing in a blog for myself. Because it takes too much time to write in a diary, and time is a luxury now. Thoughts in my head come and go at a speed my pen cannot follow. I'm writing my thoughts without a filter, without an edit. This is therapeutic writing. This is cathartic. This is for me.
If you can't take it. Don't read it. You have a choice. *backspace*
*********************************************************************************
I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. I shouldn't be.
But I am.
I am constantly surprised at the extent of the effect you have on me, regardless of past experiences. You alone possess the singular ability to strike this hard, this deep, this long. That I'm still in danger of falling back into what I think is a mistake.
But is it?
To feel so strongly after so long and so many times, to have such difficulty keeping you away from this mess of a mind; is falling back into it a mistake, or is keeping my distance a mistake?
Perhaps you were the only one who've ever tried to strike me. Perhaps this is my mind's default response to all strikers, but so far you were the only who've tried.
And boy, what a strike.
Sighs.
I suppose circumstances led to this...relapse.
Circumstances like D event. Circumstances like now.
It doesn't help that D event constantly puts a wedge into my social life. I fear rejection more than ever now; and yet life cannot go one without rejections. I fear rejection so much that I go out of my way to avoid it. Perhaps I've set myself up for rejection in the past. Perhaps I've been going to the wrong person, to the wrong places. Perhaps it's simply me being selfish again. But being rejected hurts.
I understand, rationally, that not everyone thinks like me, behaves like me. God knows I have a certain ... eccentricity. I understand, rationally, that nobody is obliged to accept your extended invitation. I understand, rationally, that everybody have their ways of living, and that medschool life is not something where you can simply give in to frequent spontaneity.
I understand all this. Rationally.
I used to invite people every time I plan to do something; dinner, movies, cafe hopping, long drives, sports, jogs; even grocery shopping. It's like a reflex; to search for companionship. After D event, I would've expected myself to be stronger. More independent. To be more content being alone. But no. Even though I spend most of my time alone, and actually feel comfortable alone, I lament the lack of companionship.
I fear myself when I'm alone. I become this monster who simply loses all control. Because I'm alone, I don't have to wear a mask of amiability, of being considerate, of catering to another's needs.
Because I'm alone. Because when I'm alone, I'm free.
And Freedom is something to be feared of.
Thus I ask. I don't want to become the monster I hate. Recently my control over the monster has been slipping, that sometimes it rears its head at my friends and colleagues.
Thus, I ask. But the answer I get 90% of the time is no.
I understand, I do. Rationally.
But it still hurts.
Especially when I found out they go out on similar excursions. Without me.
I sincerely hope that the exclusion was simply due to thoughtlessness. That I was simply not important enough, that they don't see me frequent enough to remember me. I hope the exclusion isn't intentional. I do hope I have not deteriorated to the point where people took measures to avoid me.
*shakes head vigorously* I mustn't think of things such as this. I simply mustn't. I cannot afford to.
*shakes head*
Back to rejection. Back to the dreaded 'no'.
I didn't realise I was dejected, I didn't realise I was disappointed. I didn't realise I started to go out without asking. I didn't realised I'd stopped asking. I didn't realise I feared. Not until one day I realised I'd stopped asking, and turned to the mirror and asked myself why I stopped.
I feared. I hated feeling the way I do every time a 'no' comes my way. Like a rubber bullet, not deadly, but hurts like the devil. I'd become so intolerant to hearing 'no' that I'd simply avoided putting myself in its striking range.
So I stopped asking. I stopped asking anybody for anything. I became the one person I'd feared the most when I was younger. I went to places on my own. I do things on my own. I flit in and out on my own schedule, without informing anyone, without telling, without asking. I started to hate human contact. I started to hate being asked where I am, or what I'm doing, or where I plan to go or do.
It reached the point where it became a game; how many places can I go alone? I've went for breakfast in a crowded roadside stall with nothing but a phone for company. I've went to the cinema and shared anecdotes and comments with myself because I don't know the strangers on either side of me. I went to cafes and sat in a dark quiet corner wishing for company but enjoying the silent comfort of being free of company. I went to coffee festivals and sampled all the coffee and chatted up baristas. I talk to myself, negotiate with myself, out loud, a lot. I'd done a lot of things I wouldn't have done otherwise.
But I hated being alone. I would go on long drives because I didn't want to go home to a dark empty room. I would go on long drives and cry in the car when the loneliness suffocates me. I found myself rubbing my own arm unconsciously when queuing behind an old loving couple in Tesco. I talk to myself, a lot. I relate to sad songs a lot more than I used to. Even happy songs can make me cry. I hated that I have a choice to be happy, and I chose otherwise. I hated that I needed others to be happy.
What happened to being self-sufficient? What happened to choosing happiness?
I know I'm being selfish. That I feel that the reaction of others have indirectly led me to this. But as I write this, I realised that I have no one to blame but myself. I have other friends. I have other acquaintances. Why do I keep going back to the same ones? Why do I write off the people who'd been there for me, who'd let me indulged in my spontaneity, who'd even enjoyed being with me? Why do I get all worked up over people who probably doesn't care that much about me?
Why do I always care too much about people who shouldn't matter, and ignore those who should?
You see, I know this all. Intellectually.
But it seems that my intellect is no match for my emotions.
GAH.
The point of all this was to try to rationalise my relapse. To tell myself that it happened once. It happened twice. Maybe thrice. It didn't work. It never really did. I admit that I need to learn how to voice out my needs, my wants, my concerns. I've hated conflict ever since I can remember, and while I'm learning how to face it instead of avoiding it like the coward I am, it's not going well. My avoidance has proven to be useful at multiple points in my life and it's hard to ignore the instinct to turn a blind eye. Ignorance is bliss, after all. Even pretend ones.
But that is beside the point.
I thought I was over all these. My life is complicated enough with all the tutorials and lectures I attend. I thought my mind would be too busy to dredge up history, to dream up all these make-believes. I thought solitude would calm this mess of a mind down.
But no. It had to dream up possibilities. Unrealistic, idealistic, impossible possibilities. All serving to sink me deeper into my desolation.
So much for thought.
I've never been a big fan of marriage. The idea of so much responsibility was terrifying to a younger me. But now I'm beginning to see the merits of it. The appeal of lifelong companionship, of sympathy--if not empathy. The appeal of a shoulder to rest on when life goes too fast. The appeal of an arm to rely on when responsibilities weighs you down. The appeal to offer the same for another, to share such a bond that giving becomes a pleasure, that being able to help brings relief. Of shared burdens. Of shared joy. Of shared problems. Of shared reliefs. Of sharing.
The appeal of a family.
Friends are just that. Friends. There's an end. I've learnt to not put so much heart and soul into what will end one day. It is, indeed, a precious--but incredibly rare--moment if you found someone who, while not related to you by blood, who puts up with your bullshit, who holds you up when your legs are too weak, and puts you back together when you're broken. Most times, people just run.
Most times, I do. Run, I mean.
And blood; I've been blessed by blood. So incredibly blessed with my experience of blood. I know not everyone's the same. But my blood. Its thickness and viscosity just engulfs you whole, even when you're a mess, even when you're broken beyond repair. It sweeps you up and drowns you in familiar comfort; thick, warm, soothing. It cradles, it nurtures, it fixes you up. Regardless of who you are, where're you're at, or how evil you've been. Blood's forgiving. Blood's accepting. Blood's blood.
All this is making me miss home.
I know I probably don't make sense. I'm much too distressed to actually write coherently. I swear, I'm only writing to clear my mind up.It helped quite a bit, surprisingly, considering my current state of mind. These few days have been...tumultous. My eyes are swollen from all the crying, and I swear PMS hasn't even hit. I guess the loneliness is more evident when holidays are upon you; short ones, where you can't go home, where you can't go anywhere but into the dangerous recesses of your own mind.
I should stop.
I will stop.
p.s. I need to remember that there are some people who rarely says 'no' to my spontaneity. I need to remember how happy I felt when the occasional 'yes' comes my way. I need to remember good things too. I need to stop fixating on the negatives. I need to stop being selfish. I need to stop.
Hormonal, emotional, negative, incredibly selfish writing below : Do not enter with judgement. Or rather, do not enter AT ALL.
Warning issued. I'm writing with no restraints whatsoever here. If you think I'm talking about you, you're probably right. Maybe.
Like I said, no restraints. That means my ethics is questionable in the following.
For once, I'm writing in a blog for myself. Because it takes too much time to write in a diary, and time is a luxury now. Thoughts in my head come and go at a speed my pen cannot follow. I'm writing my thoughts without a filter, without an edit. This is therapeutic writing. This is cathartic. This is for me.
If you can't take it. Don't read it. You have a choice. *backspace*
*********************************************************************************
I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. I shouldn't be.
But I am.
I am constantly surprised at the extent of the effect you have on me, regardless of past experiences. You alone possess the singular ability to strike this hard, this deep, this long. That I'm still in danger of falling back into what I think is a mistake.
But is it?
To feel so strongly after so long and so many times, to have such difficulty keeping you away from this mess of a mind; is falling back into it a mistake, or is keeping my distance a mistake?
Perhaps you were the only one who've ever tried to strike me. Perhaps this is my mind's default response to all strikers, but so far you were the only who've tried.
And boy, what a strike.
Sighs.
I suppose circumstances led to this...relapse.
Circumstances like D event. Circumstances like now.
It doesn't help that D event constantly puts a wedge into my social life. I fear rejection more than ever now; and yet life cannot go one without rejections. I fear rejection so much that I go out of my way to avoid it. Perhaps I've set myself up for rejection in the past. Perhaps I've been going to the wrong person, to the wrong places. Perhaps it's simply me being selfish again. But being rejected hurts.
I understand, rationally, that not everyone thinks like me, behaves like me. God knows I have a certain ... eccentricity. I understand, rationally, that nobody is obliged to accept your extended invitation. I understand, rationally, that everybody have their ways of living, and that medschool life is not something where you can simply give in to frequent spontaneity.
I understand all this. Rationally.
I used to invite people every time I plan to do something; dinner, movies, cafe hopping, long drives, sports, jogs; even grocery shopping. It's like a reflex; to search for companionship. After D event, I would've expected myself to be stronger. More independent. To be more content being alone. But no. Even though I spend most of my time alone, and actually feel comfortable alone, I lament the lack of companionship.
I fear myself when I'm alone. I become this monster who simply loses all control. Because I'm alone, I don't have to wear a mask of amiability, of being considerate, of catering to another's needs.
Because I'm alone. Because when I'm alone, I'm free.
And Freedom is something to be feared of.
Thus I ask. I don't want to become the monster I hate. Recently my control over the monster has been slipping, that sometimes it rears its head at my friends and colleagues.
Thus, I ask. But the answer I get 90% of the time is no.
I understand, I do. Rationally.
But it still hurts.
Especially when I found out they go out on similar excursions. Without me.
I sincerely hope that the exclusion was simply due to thoughtlessness. That I was simply not important enough, that they don't see me frequent enough to remember me. I hope the exclusion isn't intentional. I do hope I have not deteriorated to the point where people took measures to avoid me.
*shakes head vigorously* I mustn't think of things such as this. I simply mustn't. I cannot afford to.
*shakes head*
Back to rejection. Back to the dreaded 'no'.
I didn't realise I was dejected, I didn't realise I was disappointed. I didn't realise I started to go out without asking. I didn't realised I'd stopped asking. I didn't realise I feared. Not until one day I realised I'd stopped asking, and turned to the mirror and asked myself why I stopped.
I feared. I hated feeling the way I do every time a 'no' comes my way. Like a rubber bullet, not deadly, but hurts like the devil. I'd become so intolerant to hearing 'no' that I'd simply avoided putting myself in its striking range.
So I stopped asking. I stopped asking anybody for anything. I became the one person I'd feared the most when I was younger. I went to places on my own. I do things on my own. I flit in and out on my own schedule, without informing anyone, without telling, without asking. I started to hate human contact. I started to hate being asked where I am, or what I'm doing, or where I plan to go or do.
It reached the point where it became a game; how many places can I go alone? I've went for breakfast in a crowded roadside stall with nothing but a phone for company. I've went to the cinema and shared anecdotes and comments with myself because I don't know the strangers on either side of me. I went to cafes and sat in a dark quiet corner wishing for company but enjoying the silent comfort of being free of company. I went to coffee festivals and sampled all the coffee and chatted up baristas. I talk to myself, negotiate with myself, out loud, a lot. I'd done a lot of things I wouldn't have done otherwise.
But I hated being alone. I would go on long drives because I didn't want to go home to a dark empty room. I would go on long drives and cry in the car when the loneliness suffocates me. I found myself rubbing my own arm unconsciously when queuing behind an old loving couple in Tesco. I talk to myself, a lot. I relate to sad songs a lot more than I used to. Even happy songs can make me cry. I hated that I have a choice to be happy, and I chose otherwise. I hated that I needed others to be happy.
What happened to being self-sufficient? What happened to choosing happiness?
I know I'm being selfish. That I feel that the reaction of others have indirectly led me to this. But as I write this, I realised that I have no one to blame but myself. I have other friends. I have other acquaintances. Why do I keep going back to the same ones? Why do I write off the people who'd been there for me, who'd let me indulged in my spontaneity, who'd even enjoyed being with me? Why do I get all worked up over people who probably doesn't care that much about me?
Why do I always care too much about people who shouldn't matter, and ignore those who should?
You see, I know this all. Intellectually.
But it seems that my intellect is no match for my emotions.
GAH.
The point of all this was to try to rationalise my relapse. To tell myself that it happened once. It happened twice. Maybe thrice. It didn't work. It never really did. I admit that I need to learn how to voice out my needs, my wants, my concerns. I've hated conflict ever since I can remember, and while I'm learning how to face it instead of avoiding it like the coward I am, it's not going well. My avoidance has proven to be useful at multiple points in my life and it's hard to ignore the instinct to turn a blind eye. Ignorance is bliss, after all. Even pretend ones.
But that is beside the point.
I thought I was over all these. My life is complicated enough with all the tutorials and lectures I attend. I thought my mind would be too busy to dredge up history, to dream up all these make-believes. I thought solitude would calm this mess of a mind down.
But no. It had to dream up possibilities. Unrealistic, idealistic, impossible possibilities. All serving to sink me deeper into my desolation.
So much for thought.
I've never been a big fan of marriage. The idea of so much responsibility was terrifying to a younger me. But now I'm beginning to see the merits of it. The appeal of lifelong companionship, of sympathy--if not empathy. The appeal of a shoulder to rest on when life goes too fast. The appeal of an arm to rely on when responsibilities weighs you down. The appeal to offer the same for another, to share such a bond that giving becomes a pleasure, that being able to help brings relief. Of shared burdens. Of shared joy. Of shared problems. Of shared reliefs. Of sharing.
The appeal of a family.
Friends are just that. Friends. There's an end. I've learnt to not put so much heart and soul into what will end one day. It is, indeed, a precious--but incredibly rare--moment if you found someone who, while not related to you by blood, who puts up with your bullshit, who holds you up when your legs are too weak, and puts you back together when you're broken. Most times, people just run.
Most times, I do. Run, I mean.
And blood; I've been blessed by blood. So incredibly blessed with my experience of blood. I know not everyone's the same. But my blood. Its thickness and viscosity just engulfs you whole, even when you're a mess, even when you're broken beyond repair. It sweeps you up and drowns you in familiar comfort; thick, warm, soothing. It cradles, it nurtures, it fixes you up. Regardless of who you are, where're you're at, or how evil you've been. Blood's forgiving. Blood's accepting. Blood's blood.
All this is making me miss home.
I know I probably don't make sense. I'm much too distressed to actually write coherently. I swear, I'm only writing to clear my mind up.It helped quite a bit, surprisingly, considering my current state of mind. These few days have been...tumultous. My eyes are swollen from all the crying, and I swear PMS hasn't even hit. I guess the loneliness is more evident when holidays are upon you; short ones, where you can't go home, where you can't go anywhere but into the dangerous recesses of your own mind.
I should stop.
I will stop.
p.s. I need to remember that there are some people who rarely says 'no' to my spontaneity. I need to remember how happy I felt when the occasional 'yes' comes my way. I need to remember good things too. I need to stop fixating on the negatives. I need to stop being selfish. I need to stop.
Sunday, July 17, 2016
车里的那个女孩
偶然转身
发现车里有个女孩
抱着方向盘
却不知该往哪个方向前行
大路上挤满了车子
空荡荡的车里
女孩手臂的长度
却饶不了方向盘的宽度
当每个人都有了每个人
而女孩却只剩下不懂驱使的方向盘
曲终了；人散了
剩下的脚步声陪着女孩度过
告诉自己不能放弃
泪却已默默的抹黑实现
身边的空位曾满座
每一句的回应现在只剩空气
她重视的人不够重
是她。
女孩轻浮于雨滴的无视里。
雨滴的沸腾
雷雨比不出上下
漫长的夜里
拥挤的车道
孤寂的车里
有个女孩在默默的哭泣
Sunday, April 3, 2016
Breathe 한숨 ( Lee Hi )
连发出一声叹息都感到困难的一天
现在不要再想别的事情
试着深吸一口气吧 再如往常般呼出
歌被唱到心里去了；是累了烦了还是喘不过气来了？
脑浆快被榨干了；
穿上沉重的外套；
沉重得肩膀塌了，撑不住了。
想做的事很多，得做的事更多；
能做的事却寥寥无几。
谁来给我个紧紧的拥抱，紧得稍微疼痛发麻；
紧得把一切挤出脑外心外，
让我暂时让大脑放空，
另一种窒息。
唉。
先啥都不想，深吸口气。
*呼*
*息*
Wednesday, December 23, 2015
2015 - The Short Version
And I still am clueless most of the time. Who says you can learn from mistakes?
Monday, October 12, 2015
罗密欧 | 朱丽叶 | 芭蕾 | 爱情
2015 十月 十二日 （晴）伦敦皇家歌剧院
是否因他而开始注意爱情了？
身边的每一个人都让自己有所体会有所感动；一直以来觉得毫无逻辑的罗密欧与朱丽叶，竟然让自己掉泪了。
那种突如其来的哭天抢地的爱情 --- 怎么这次竟不觉得是这样了？
没有责怪他们的愚蠢；这次好似带上了不同的眼睛看这一对不幸的情侣在不知怜悯的世界里被残酷的时间情景逼上毫无退路的悬崖。吾爱非浅；他俩的一见钟情也许不可能在这现实的世界里出现，可那失去吾爱的疼痛并不因为还生嫩的恋情而不痛了。
为爱而奋不顾身；这次，我明白了。
亲身经历了没被回复的 affection，是否让自己更加敏感了？
更懂得珍惜疼爱自己的人，更懂得爱与被爱不是理所当然的，学会了爱情并不是轰轰烈烈而灿烂了；平凡里的不平凡 --- 那些每一天每一分每一秒一起面对的争执战斗，每一刻面对着同一个人却更能接受对方更觉得他迷人的那种表面上清淡的affection ---- 我更觉浪漫了。
清清淡淡简简单单，没有很大的宣誓，而爱却在每一个小动作里现身—从他身边经过时顺手的一个轻抚，说话时小小的一个眼神一个笑容一个只属于你跟他的瞬间…
爱得越深表现越小却更频繁了。
而爱我的和我爱的我应更珍惜那方？爱我的人我开始察觉到了，有很多很多。而他们让我在寒冷的冬季里莫名的温暖。所以，我想暂时把我恋的搁着，而慢慢的去学会去爱那些爱我的人。也许我这是说到做不到的（因为太了解自己而更这样觉得）；放下自己心里特想要的对这颗蘑菇（aka 本小姐）来说也许太难了，可我会尽量的。
有时候觉得，爱一个人是个一世都在修学的学问。路上也许会有我现在的cathartic时刻，也许会有迷失方向的时候，可我这幸福的小孩有着太多爱我的人 --- 我深信他们肯定会在我迷失的时候指引我从新步入我该走的路。
 |
| 经典 ： 罗朱 之 阳台谈情 (Balcony Scene) feat. 我的最爱 Steven McRae |
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| 还是同一幕 - 阳台谈情 ： 罗与朱深陷的那一刻，也就是我为芭蕾更无法自拔的一刻。 （那无以伦比的Arabesque Penche En Pointe 之魅力 <3 <3 <3 ) |
是否因他而开始注意爱情了？
身边的每一个人都让自己有所体会有所感动；一直以来觉得毫无逻辑的罗密欧与朱丽叶，竟然让自己掉泪了。
那种突如其来的哭天抢地的爱情 --- 怎么这次竟不觉得是这样了？
没有责怪他们的愚蠢；这次好似带上了不同的眼睛看这一对不幸的情侣在不知怜悯的世界里被残酷的时间情景逼上毫无退路的悬崖。吾爱非浅；他俩的一见钟情也许不可能在这现实的世界里出现，可那失去吾爱的疼痛并不因为还生嫩的恋情而不痛了。
为爱而奋不顾身；这次，我明白了。
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| 罗密欧得知朱丽叶被许配给巴黎，二人怎么说断就断？（多漂亮！又是我最爱的 Arabesque Penche en Pointe <3 ) |
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| 让我泪湿满面的那一幕；罗密欧死了 ='( |
亲身经历了没被回复的 affection，是否让自己更加敏感了？
更懂得珍惜疼爱自己的人，更懂得爱与被爱不是理所当然的，学会了爱情并不是轰轰烈烈而灿烂了；平凡里的不平凡 --- 那些每一天每一分每一秒一起面对的争执战斗，每一刻面对着同一个人却更能接受对方更觉得他迷人的那种表面上清淡的affection ---- 我更觉浪漫了。
清清淡淡简简单单，没有很大的宣誓，而爱却在每一个小动作里现身—从他身边经过时顺手的一个轻抚，说话时小小的一个眼神一个笑容一个只属于你跟他的瞬间…
爱得越深表现越小却更频繁了。
而爱我的和我爱的我应更珍惜那方？爱我的人我开始察觉到了，有很多很多。而他们让我在寒冷的冬季里莫名的温暖。所以，我想暂时把我恋的搁着，而慢慢的去学会去爱那些爱我的人。也许我这是说到做不到的（因为太了解自己而更这样觉得）；放下自己心里特想要的对这颗蘑菇（aka 本小姐）来说也许太难了，可我会尽量的。
有时候觉得，爱一个人是个一世都在修学的学问。路上也许会有我现在的cathartic时刻，也许会有迷失方向的时候，可我这幸福的小孩有着太多爱我的人 --- 我深信他们肯定会在我迷失的时候指引我从新步入我该走的路。
Saturday, April 4, 2015
突然。想家了。
多一个小时就得搭车到飞机场去。到一个与春天同义的地方。
昨天病了。前几天看见朋友生病了还暗自庆幸不是自己病了，结果……
尝试着在前往机场前几个小时小睡，可这脑袋根本不想配合。找些老歌让自己放松入睡，然后突然想哭了。
不是那种很平常很偶尔的几滴泪；是打从心底不能停止完全不受控制地，回到小时候那种放肆的嚎啕大哭。好久没有这样哭了，这样毫无顾虑的放声大哭。可这次，没有往常那种刚被洗净单纯的安慰；这次哭完后，只有一种莫名的，空。
曾经看过人家边哭边说心痛，我可不曾相信—那种心痛怎可能是真痛，又不是心脏病什么的。
小时候的自己还真够单纯。
是想家了吧。在外面一个人鲜少有这种想家的时刻，毕竟朋友多的是，学校活动忙的不可开交，哪来的时间想这么多。
可昨天因定错机票而对家人发脾气，虽然是自己的错，心里也知道百分百是自己的粗心，可还是对他们发脾气了。然后那天晚上我梦见我回家了，似乎没有离开过的在家人的怀里依偎着，看电影，吃晚餐；一个非常平常的晚上。然后突然梦里爸爸提醒了自己去Amsterdam的行李还没收拾好 — 我惊醒了。
闭上眼睛逼自己回到梦里，开玩笑，都已知道是梦了。
突然想念你们了。想念非常有力非常温暖的拥抱，想念一起围坐在餐桌争着是该谁洗碗了，想念安静的做在一起看书看戏，想念一起唱歌……
我不能继续了。渐渐窒息，被回忆袭击，我不能呼吸。
昨天病了。前几天看见朋友生病了还暗自庆幸不是自己病了，结果……
尝试着在前往机场前几个小时小睡，可这脑袋根本不想配合。找些老歌让自己放松入睡，然后突然想哭了。
不是那种很平常很偶尔的几滴泪；是打从心底不能停止完全不受控制地，回到小时候那种放肆的嚎啕大哭。好久没有这样哭了，这样毫无顾虑的放声大哭。可这次，没有往常那种刚被洗净单纯的安慰；这次哭完后，只有一种莫名的，空。
曾经看过人家边哭边说心痛，我可不曾相信—那种心痛怎可能是真痛，又不是心脏病什么的。
小时候的自己还真够单纯。
是想家了吧。在外面一个人鲜少有这种想家的时刻，毕竟朋友多的是，学校活动忙的不可开交，哪来的时间想这么多。
可昨天因定错机票而对家人发脾气，虽然是自己的错，心里也知道百分百是自己的粗心，可还是对他们发脾气了。然后那天晚上我梦见我回家了，似乎没有离开过的在家人的怀里依偎着，看电影，吃晚餐；一个非常平常的晚上。然后突然梦里爸爸提醒了自己去Amsterdam的行李还没收拾好 — 我惊醒了。
闭上眼睛逼自己回到梦里，开玩笑，都已知道是梦了。
突然想念你们了。想念非常有力非常温暖的拥抱，想念一起围坐在餐桌争着是该谁洗碗了，想念安静的做在一起看书看戏，想念一起唱歌……
我不能继续了。渐渐窒息，被回忆袭击，我不能呼吸。
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