It's that time of the year when the weather suddenly starts to change it's mood. As I tucked myself under a warm sheet as it rained quietly outside, I thought of all the charming thoughts that might be coming to a person who has been bestowed with the power to write magic. Those that touches the heart more than the common sense. At times I regret my inability to make things seem more beautiful than they are. It's probably my perception of reality that makes me incapable of doing so myself. I'm not a very honest person when it comes to exaggerations. But somehow writing of feelings that are 'magical' renders to me a sense of betraying my own standards of honesty, however shifty that might be.
Saturday, 9 October 2010
It rained outside. The streets were almost empty except for a bus or two speeding by. The wind was so cold that it was hard to imagine that I was all messily sweaty only a few days ago. The windows of most of the houses stayed close. There was no extraordinary sway of the trees. Just a passive tolerance of the rain, as if it didn't bother them at all. As I observed rather nonchalantly I thought of the hopeless romantics who were thinking of their lovers, the creative fellow writing that one poem that would give these moments a timeless beauty, the sad man down the road being nostalgic about times lost and faded. I thought of how the music lover would listen to that one tune that befits the moment according to his tastes, I thought of people's passions, of which I've read so much.
Passion seems to evade me as I nudge my mind to remain pragmatic all the time. As I heard the drizzle, I realised that I don't know what my favourite song is like.
There was a sense of regret in me as I went off to sleep. It was just another beautiful day-end, whose larger-than-reality magical elements remained beyond me.
Posted by Olive Oyl at 01:41