Midnight sun~*

Beautiful notes, steady rhythm.
In waves
Everything in perfect harmony.

Words,
Spoken not by us,
Lingered in the densely humid air.

In the darkness.
We reached for each other.
The way we usually do.

Longing, yearning.
We advanced, halted, retreated.
Ebbed and flowed.
Came and went.

The poignancy,
the quiet beauty,
the soft curves amid the sharp edges.

Time slowed and came to a standstill.
Silence hung in the air.
Comfortable, and serene.
We sat and watched in silence.

The setting midnight sun.

There was no need for words.
There never was.

~*~*~*~*

So much poignancy, indeed.

No, I guess it's more like wistfulness.

Anyhow, I really, really envy (some) poets and writers and lyricists.
Writing not just a chain of alphabets put together to form something called words, but portraying something so intimately connected to us in one way or another;
something that can strike a chord, tug at your heartstrings;
something that heals, or dig at old wounds, and stir emotions you hadn't known you possessed.

Recently, I came across some excerpts of poems written by Pablo Neruda, the Chilean poet.

THIS.

I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz, 

or arrow of carnations that propagate fire: 

I love you as one loves certain obscure things, 

secretly, between the shadow and the soul. 

I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom but carries 

the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself, 

and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose 

from the earth lives dimly in my body. 

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where, 

I love you directly without problems or pride: 

I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love, 

except in this form in which I am not nor are you, 

so close that your hand upon my chest is mine, 

so close that your eyes close with my dreams.

- Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets XVII

source 

~*~*~*

Somehow, I'd managed to survive the past week - it was an intense and difficult week.

Being alone in the office when it's all dark outside is not fun.
Me and my inefficiency, and that stubbornness...

So, what are the things / who are the people who keep your sanity in check?

Thank you.

~*~*~*

Cello.
Should I, or should I not?

~*~*~*

A new set of challenges await.

The halcyon days~*

Oh, life.

The reticent girl. 

Quietly watching, taking things in, thinking, dreaming, dancing and flying.

"All the what ifs, could haves..."  

Dream, and dream...
and dance, and dance...

It brings you a different kind of tranquility.

A starlit night,
two glasses of wine,
a quintet,
under the beautiful sakura tree (haha, right)

In this person's arms, being twirled around.
Let your hair down, close your eyes, and dance.

It doesn't take much.

Let's face the music and dance... 
(Nat King Cole)

So Vague, So Random~*

The most amazing thing happened to me when I was travelling to my braces clinic to get the stitches removed.

"This is for you."

A handwritten note by a random stranger.

Never miss a connection. 

Hello, dear Murakami fan. 
Kindred spirits, indeed. 

A scene straight out of a movie / novel.

The note is now safely tucked in between the pages in Dance, Dance, Dance.

Pass it on.
And hope that one day, it'll come back in one full circle

~*~*~*

“So what can I do now?" she spoke up a minute later. 

"Nothing," I said. 

"Just think about what comes before words. You owe that to the dead. 

As time goes on, you'll understand. 

What lasts, lasts; what doesn't, doesn't. 

Time solves most things. 

And what time can't solve, you have to solve yourself. 

Is that too much to ask?" 

"A little," she said, trying to smile. 

"Well, of course it is," I said, trying to smile too. 

"I doubt that this makes sense to most people. But I think I'm right. 

People die all the time. 

Life is a lot more fragile than we think. 

So you should treat others in a way that leaves no regrets. 

Fairly, and if posible, sincerely. 

It's too easy not to make the effort, then weep and wring your hands after the person dies.

Personally, I don't buy it." 

Yuki leaned against the car door. 

"But that's real hard, isn't it?" she said. 

"Real hard," I said. "But it's worth trying for.”

- Murakami Haruki, Dance, Dance, Dance 

~*~*~*

Burning, burning.

with... (what's it called?) 

For like ever.

~*~*~*

Something that shifts and bends, 

wavers, denies, inflates, soars, lingers... 

Let it linger on our fingertips,

and in the look we exchange...

Cherish that delicate moment before it hardens, and takes shape. 

And when the ethereality dissipates. 

~*~*~*

Five Spot after Dark - Curtis Fuller's Quintet

This has no relation whatsoever with this random photo...
but still, who needs a reason to introduce a jazz piece...? 

Wear the World

~*~*~*

When the demons come out to play. 

Are you ready to face your inner demons?

When you feel my heat 
Look into my eyes 
It’s where my demons hide 
It’s where my demons hide 
Don’t get too close 
It’s dark inside 
It’s where my demons hide 
It’s where my demons hide


~*~*~*

Deep down,
Still a hopeless romantic...



How wonderful life is while you're in the world...