Something old. Something new. Something borrow. Something blue.
Collection of slice of life scribbles
oh my darling
you were so gorgeously beautiful
what did those years do to you?
why is it that i’m facing with a frustratingly distorted version
of a stranger that i used to know?
was it me? give me a clue
did leaving you leave too much blue?
but boy, i don’t deserve someone as ethereal as you
my mortal traits cannot compete with your surreal divinity
if heaven is where you’re living
then pardon me, i shall be in hell
Saigon
nyclovers
08/01/2024
you’d never know how long half a day is until you lose some sleep
when you’re about to lose your mind from counting sheep
when you comb through everything, i mean everything
from the things that you did to the things that you missed
wonder where it all went wrong
the road that you had chosen was once full of light
now you can’t even find the torch
monsters you create crawl in, everywhere, in every corner of your room, in every corner of your mind
you try, you try, you try
to put your thoughts away, but your mind keep putting those doubts on replay
you told yourself to be proud, to move forward, to standout
you did, but at the expense of friendship, of partnership
you held your head high, trampled on others’ pride
oh, twenty-seven was too green an age
to know it’s better to give and to take
at twenty-nine
you told yourself to be kind
but the price isn’t peace of mind
it’s not enough
it’s true that gratitude comes from kindness
it also comes from earnest deeds, from daringness, from going out of your comfort zone
even from a mess
‘are you all right?’
a simple question on Christmas night
that’s when you know you’ve put up one hell of a fight
and it’s all right to cry
but tomorrow you’ll continue to fight
the right battle, for the right truth
twelve hours equal half a day
twelve months later you finally have the courage to put FINNEAS on replay
twelve hours of restlessness can make one scare to go to bed
twelve months later you finally can get it off your chest
i’ve lost some sleep
but i found myself, some precious friends to keep,
the right path to tread
and it’s probably for the best
Saigon
05/11/2022
nyclovers
T/Slice of life/Because I've listened to Tom Odell too much/Inspired by stories I 'accidentally' collected at café, on the radios, anywhere.
for my muse, who is as far as the stars in the sky and the other side of the bridges that we’ve burned
If he could put all the blame on Tom Odell’s heart-wrenching “Smiling all the way back home”, he would. For meeting that person was the best thing that had ever happened to him in a long while. She made him able to see stars, through all layers of clouds and polluted smoke. She made him a believer in wonders and beautiful things. She made him walk without looking down, with his in the cloud and his feet off the ground.
She made him fall.
She wasn’t the villain. No. She wasn’t all about taking and he wasn’t all about giving. He was too smart and too realistic for such fantasies. He took her time, her smiles, her gazes, her sharp-witted remarks, her burning touches, he took all and claimed all of them his. It was a ‘win-win’ kind of association, as he used to tell her lovingly when they were stargazing together. Guessed he made her see the stars too.
Continue reading “Gazing stars and burning bridges”T/Slice of life/There is no them, just him and her.
Occasionally, I call this “Oblivious”
It has never been a bother.
She never minds his false signals and meaningless gestures since they warm her heart, for half of the time. The other half she spends on contemplating whether they mean something, or anything at all.
Gradually, it has become a bad habit she cannot break. As days go, she wants those oh-not-so-meaningful gestures more and more. She turns daydreaming into her morning exercises and into her goodnight cup of hot chocolate. Her brain never understands why she keeps thinking about those things. Probably because it’s a pleasant thing to do. At the end of the day, small talks and small gestures are the best things in life. And they are often free, so why not?
This is a fact, not speculation: his small gestures mean more to her than the fact that she is unclear about his true intentions. The funny thing is it actually feels like the game of cat and mouse in which he is the mischievous cat and she’s willingly to play the mouse. She wants him to capture her more than she ever wants him to love her. Of course she occasionally pictures him with her but it never gets serious. Her mind never wanders to that direction, truth to be told. Life’s funny that way.
In the end, she just wants a little attention while keeping the status quo of him and her being oblivious to love.
HCMC, 11/06/2015
NYC Lovers
A/N: This is the result of Ludovico Einaudi mixed with Michael Buble mixed with Gabrielle Aplin.
Waiting coffee
Waiting is hard.
He sat there, waiting.
He could see the lights flickering playfully through the leaves of the trees outside. Together. He could hear the birds singing even though the glassed door was closed. Together.
He waited. Continue reading “Waiting coffee”
I was listening to my favourite band when the automatic voice spoke. Well, the music was drawn by other noises.
I saw the girl in her uniform rushing out to the door, yelling some words that I didn’t bother to listen to but they just flow into my ears. Well, she was late for her work, it was not her to blame. Continue reading “Usually-eight-car-vehicle”
The T.A.R.D.I.S. 