A natural inclination toward the melancholy..
Yellow light when it's raining outside.
Sepia.
Dreams.
Sleep.
Closing my eyes and spiraling down.
Bright, rich colours in a high contrast. Oil pastels.
Being by myself, stealing time for me.
Looking at the future with half closed eyes.
Silence.
Soundtracks.
Listening to the same list over and over and over again. Letting music influence me but not vice versa.
Chattering conversations with faraway stares. Thoughts take me somewhere.. and then suddenly, shut.
The restfulness of just getting into bed. The pain of being pulled away from sleep in the morning.
Staring at the mirror and then suddenly, not recognising myself.
Trying to bring back some of the childhood.
Idleness. Procrastination. Slow and gradual.
Stitch by stitch.
Pink.
Chocolate.
Movies.
The way it feels to write with an old fountain pen. The fresh smell of ink.
The texture of crayons.
The sound of a pencil, the way it feels when the lead cracks sometime, just for a few words..
The feeling of wanting to bite an eraser.
Cold chilly wind on my face when my body is warm under layers of sweaters.
Yet, the thought of being a cocoon for those precious eight dark hours is what makes me dance around the glittering lights all day.
Trying to push broken thoughts into sentences.
The Art of Looking Sideways. At the lawn.
Warm sunlight. The white cat, moody like me.
Cancer.
Lists. Making lists of lists.
Worrying. About I-don't-know-what.
Having to let go.
To go.
This one's the tree at the front lawns as seen from the amphitheatre.
