of max weber and cheesy pops
Saturday, June 30, 2007
I didn't really want to go there. I could've gone upstairs and played to my heart's content, but I somehow find myself tracing back the steps to that accursed place. Half-heartedly, I trudge the familiar path, the stone-cobbled street, and the grassy surrounding. I smell the reminiscent breeze, ever so playful, as if tapping my shoulder in sheer delight. I could've sworn I heard a whisper of my name, or at least, the used name, but I digress. Off the stone steps, and onto the slightly wet brushes, the grass, and they bristled slightly, tickling the my ankles. It's as if I've walked on a different plane, and yet, everything seemed so familiar. Probably due to the absence of certain aspects. When I reached the middle part of the field, I thought of doing random jumps and backflips, just for the heck of it, but I decided otherwise, as I did not want poring eyes all over the back of my neck. I continued on walking, gliding at certain times when I felt like it, and reached the opposite side, where empty benches were dauntingly blank and silent. Still, I plant myself on the edge of one of those benches, and I just waited. For what? I even wondered about that question as I looked at into the distance. The skies were an eerie mix of light blue softness and fiery streaks of velvety orange. A little more to the right, I could've sworn the dark purple formation had began to show sparks of lightning, but it was far off into the distance, so I couldn't be too sure. All this, I watched, until they change from the former into the dark blanket of indigo and violet, where the sun seemed to be fighting with bated breath, the rising of the white moon. The sun soon melded into the horizon's distant line, and the moon showed apathy towards the sun's departure. Still, I wait, for nothing, I say to myself. But I remember seeing a flash of something almost square, and red, definitely ruby red, and it seemed to trigger something in my head, that made me stay put, and sweat out the humid season. I noticed that people started to rush out from the adjacent buildings, and I felt a bit, should I say it, lonely. So I run back to the opposite side, still half-expecting something would come up. A memory, at least. I'm okay with that.
Vanity is key to every histrionic's fantasy world.
smiled at the sun again @ 12:28 AM,
