Orient Express







Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Life is hard. at 1:57 AM

I'm tired, we're tired, the world is just exhausted, I can feel it, whatever lies they feed me I'm just prepared to listen and sit
through this mockery of what we have been fighting for, the flaws of humans is not what makes up our core, it's our hearts that makes our lives soar
Yet still, it's hard to endure whether alone or with companions, hard to decipher what's fate and what's false, or what's worth this battalion and bloodshed that we constantly like to cover ourselves with
is this the modern warfare of our 21st century?
Yawning so much that you just start crying, failure after failure until you just stop trying
The numb fingers that yearn for some wood with your fire, they tremble like the voices of a silenced choir
The dough never seems to be worth the work and whatever fight I had before is gone and it's only pain that likes to lurk.
But hope, oh, there's hope? We still dig for it, most of the times stuck in the trenches where our knees are soiled and bathed in the saliva of our hunger and tears of misery,
mystery,
why we try so hard to obtain what we never had and we try and fill those holes with new life, maybe our kids will be happy, but mummy's still sad.



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She Was Cool at 12:36 AM

As I stood by the road, I smelt the distinct scent of cigarette in the air. Ready to cross, I turned my head to have a sight of the oncoming traffic before I made the leap of faith towards my home. She came walking towards me, the straps of her rectangle bag dragging on the ground, a cigarette held loosely in the other, and her short bob haircut flicking past her face casually with the wind. She wore a dark brown leather jacket which hung comfortably around her medium frame, and had dark blue jeans with black converses on. Her eyes were emotionless and cool, and for a brief second they connected with mine.

I quickly turned back towards the traffic, and as soon as there was a clearing, I walked across and continued my trek.

She strolled in front of me in the middle of the quiet road, whilst I was sheepishly walking on the pedestrian pathway. The smoke of her cigarette was wafting past through the strands of her hair and left a trail for me to follow. The usually unpleasant scent was strangely addictive, and the desire to talk to her compelled me to fasten my pace. Of course, I knew I could never strike up a 'hi' or any sort of introductory line with a stranger. The smell of her cigarette simply got imprinted into my memories and as soon as our paths parted, that's all that would be left of her to me.

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