Skip to main content

Heart On Sleeve

I miss her.
Three little words that say so much.
Those glasses, those cute smiles, her bright eyes.
I miss her.
Three little words that say so much.
It says how much my chest feels close bursting for the want of her, of how much a hug would mean to me right about now. It says how much I miss seeing how she bundles up her hair in a pony tail, or how she looks when she lets those deep brown locks down.
Any day without her is incomplete. Just to see her at the end of a day seems to make everything feel alright, even though I have to trudge through early evening rush-hour traffic to get to her.
And its just one of those evenings when we get caught up in everything else that isn't about us.
I miss her.
Three little words that say so much.
And so little at the same time.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Strange tales

I am aimlessly wandering through cyberspace, looking for things to help pass the time - browser games, blogs, poems, manga - waiting for the dismissal bell to ring. Deadline's almost over, and all that's left to do are some late revisions. Two days more 'til Friday. Yes, I am counting, and I am looking forward to doing something different for a change. Something to break the sad, bland routine of my life. I say thanks in advance to that brave soul who's never seen me but was nice enough to agree to wait an extra four hours just to watch a movie with me. Just please, please, please don't kill me. ----------- How's this for strange: along my boredom-induced travels in the web, I have met someone who's almost completely like S - entirely by accident. I meant to never write anything - even the smallest thing - about her ever again, but this is just too richly entertaining to pass up. They look the same, think the same, were born the same month, have almost the

No Rest for the Damned

I stare at the blinking cursor in front of me and wonder what’s next. I let myself get swallowed up by the monotony of office life: wake up, eat, travel, work, sleep; I try to revel in its off-white walls and the cacophony of voices that course through my head like nails scratching a blackboard. Funny, that word – blackboard – like my mood, black and bored, or better yet, like me – a black board. But the human tendency for self-preservation drives me to find things to fill the void; sometimes with fleeting trifles I try in vain to attach meanings to, or sometimes with things intangible and profound, like hope, or faith. But it seems that there is no rest for the dammed. Damned by the reminders of past mistakes, damned by the hollow tedium of today, and damned by the uncertainty of what lies ahead. Or it could be that I’m really just bitter, as someone pointed out not so long ago. Not a bad conclusion, really, with me allowing myself to be consumed by memories of failure, or by the bana

Judge the movie by its trailer

I am totally beside myself after watching the trailer for Ghost Rider . Never mind the technical errors such as Blackheart being described as "the son of the devil himself" - when he's just Mephisto's son, or that a part of the trailer that is - if I'm not mistaken - grammatically incorrect, or at least could be written better. I still can't wait to see the 1337 leather jacket and 1337 chain, the 1337 bike, and the h0t Eva Mendes. The flaming skull-head could use a bit more work though. Nevertheless, I'm quite sure that I'm going to be one of those lining up to see it come February next year. On a different note, The Devil Wears Prada looks quite promising. Meryl Streep as a soft spoken (in the trailer, at least) but very b*tchy cutthroat EIC for a fashion magazine and Anne Hathaway as her un-fashionable assistant might be the low-of-lows plot wise, but it's the possibility of great, not to mention amusing, perfomances from the actors that I