amphi.bi.ology

i have this nostalgia for something perfect (perfectly unperfect, yet so desirable) that never happened, couldn’t have hapenned, still on a very imaginative level, doable, to be attained and lived and experienced. I keep telling myself that I should really face the fact that some things never turn out the way I want them to and that it’s normal (normal being the key word). I actually manage to convince myself of it and at the same time, I keep preserving that seed, half seed (dunno) that keeps skipping beats, on not such an often basis, rather like a arctic feeling of ‘what if’, ‘in another life’ etc etc.

then again, I get easily influnced by all these external stimuli and they’re everywhere, poking without a warning. no wonder I get perplexed in front of notions, colours and voices.

no wonder I get to write about it without having a clue on when’s it going to take off. it is. now.. gradually. pacing

m.e.