Young that I am perhaps. When I look back at my ol' school life and now. A few years have clearly passed. Considerable time to see me as a different person. Well that's not the point, the point is that an old school girlfriend called last night. Which is fine because I, in my whimsical style, have kept up with mostly all - and even though all of them hated me at that point -- seem to have got used to life and speak quite politely to me.
What robbed my attention perhaps was that she in complete randomness read out a few lines, which seemed nice to me. They were of course love letters that I had once written. But what surprised me was that when she first started I was unfamiliar by the intensity of the writing. I had always thought that I was incapable to write so well at that point. Then perhaps my writing now. My writing now which has been conditioned by time, professionalism, and hardcore subs breathing down my neck, highlighting my mistakes and making a mockery out of honest attempts.
There were too many 'loves' in the written of course. But more than that, some lines were really good. Lines that I would have liked to nick now and scatter them in writing. Perhaps they were written in absolute solitude, to a particular person, and written in a determination that creeped from my frustration and repression.
Those letters mapped an eventful and a heartbreaking time in my life. (And hey who says you don't have real bad days when you're young.)
But those were dark.
It's difficult to get my hands on them as they've become a reading material to my friend who wishes not to part with them. But I would one day like to read them again. The sentences were short, nicely written and extremely poetic.
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It's Eye's birthday, I hope you've wished her. I am at the moment waiting for Russled and Shwats to get done from work -- so we can head to her place to chill -- she's having a party and called some of us over. And having chill for an evening without worryin of a morning I haven't done for a bit. Then go home and sleep in my bed. Not worry about work and anything that remotely relates to the sheer assholeness of it.
I got Eye a Zippo. A slim one. Somehow I had always wanted to pick one up as a gift. It's black -- better than the pansy ones they had in the store. And she seemed quite thrilled -- which sort of felt good.
She's been somehow special to me. One of those people that you feel attached to. The good thing is in this royally effed up rut, is some people like that. In old paper, I had a few which I gathered in a period of 3 and a half years. Red Herring for instance, of course The Queen, Purple Monkey, Office Poet, Sleeping Sunday and a whole lot others. Who were of course a lot elder, but just made my day for being around and also ripping me apart at times.
And here I gathered them more quickly.