Or Are We Dancers?

Somewhere outside the line,
You spilled the coffee onto a lady’s skirt
Somewhere outside the line,
I spilled the tea onto a man’s book.

Things we thought fell into places,
Thinking the best things in life happen by just accidents
Things we thought would go on smoothly
Thinking our own lobsters finally found us.

Apparently, they weren’t our own Romeo nor Juliet.
I, for one, found myself restless.
We hid ourselves in those sheets that once with them
You, for one, found yourself clueless.

Somewhere outside the line,
No coffee nor tea was spilled.
Somewhere outside the line,
Nothing clumsiness happened at all.

Somewhere outside the line,
A coincidence came out of an accident.
Somewhere outside the line,
Lobster breathe into the beginnings.

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I seems like growing up has been overrated already and more than that, looking back is surely an ancient wishful habit people undeniably do as one of their guilty deeds. What seems to be useful and very suited for daydreaming is bringing back what we used to have, which only pertains to the following topics:
1. Innocence
2. Unbroken heart
3. Stupidity on believing Walt’s “Happy Ever After.”

Seriously, I wish my fear would come out from me because I don’t really know when will I ever take risks again.

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Book Review: Orange Girl by Jostein Gaarder (via Goodreads)

The Orange Girl
The Orange Girl by Jostein Gaarder
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I read this back in college when I was in my first year. Young as I was, I became obsessed reading a captivating story in which a fifteen-year-old boy, named George received a letter from his deceased father he barely knew. Gaarder (who never failed) took me, heartfelt, through his stories and still managed to blend in some of the philosophies in this book. It is a story of The Orange Girl he (Georg’s father) first saw at the tram. This is the kind of book that I could read over and over since its influence has never failed me. If I will be asked which book will be on my top recommended books, this book will be my answer. 🙂

View all my reviews

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She’s the kind who isn’t struggling when something bad is going on because that’s what life taught her. She’s been through a lot that make her seem to look so easy when handling bad things. The downside, she doesn’t seem to care about anything at all. It’s just all about her now, no one else.

From the looks of it, she’s the stereotyped girl who’s happy enough in the company of a good book and a mix of good music. She acts like she doesn’t care on how she looks but she does.

All of these, I want to know more but it seems like she doesn’t want to.

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I took off the bus and started walking in the side street for about half a mile. I reached home, my yellow victorian house with a blue roof. I passed my sunflower garden where Lolita, my Goldie, sleeps soundly. It’s 5am in the morning and my body wants to quit everything and just lie anywhere.

I am the kind who has routines. No matter what circumstances there are, my routines will still take place. Just like right now, I may feel tired but I can’t skip hot chocolate milk and waffles. It’s summer, by the way. I checked my email on my laptop and read through it. I don’t know why people still get answering machines. SMS and Emails are easier and more safe.

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This is what it sounds like when doves cry.

It is more than a guilt feeling. It’s even more than being so shameful for what I did. After a year of waiting, I finally got a hold of her. But then sudden conditions in my life occur and made me lose my grip. I’m now in hell.

She’s crying. Like an angelic baby, she still looks adorable when she cries. Her cheeks gone red, her eyes glitters with tears and it made me want to hold her tight. I tried but she pushes me away. She still looks beautiful but I never told her this, she’d only think I’m making up for my unmanly mistake. I see her so beautiful but it still crushes my heart into bits. I am the worst kind.

I am speechless, all I could this is bow my head. I have no words to say to heal her. I tried those 3 words and all I got is, “Bullshit!” This is becoming hopeless, I thought. I want to escape but how could I leave a woman crying? How could I leave HER crying?

You see, I love her. I am deeply, irretrievably in love with her. But I’m even asking my own potentials why can’t I prove that to her.

Now she’s walking away. I didn’t run after her. Unlike in the movies, I lost some balls. We should blame all the fictional men writers built into life, they made women expect more.


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v. I got tired of running to people I thought could make me happy. To the point of sprinting on the trail, I suddenly feel so burnout. I stopped and pant frantically. I stopped and turned to right where I can only find the smooth road. Where I don’t chase anyone but myself and my PR. Where I can only just beat my own happiness.

With the walls I built, with the padlocks I’ve been hoarding, I realized no one will get inside. No one could break me down. Unless you’re Will Cooper (Slammed Series), I might reconsider.

I’m putting a big emphasis on stopping myself on chasing people. I did, I was there. I thought I was chasing happiness, I was chasing tragedies. So I made up my mind, thank God. I had to save myself, I had to be my own hero.

And now I am running to my own kind of happiness. I’d rather be solo than be in misery. I’d rather beat my PR of own happiness. Yes, I’d rather.

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It was a sunny afternoon when you saw me struggling with my tote bag, digging inside and looking for something. You thought I was looking so stressed out as if I was robbed with my gold bars. With my ears plugged with music, you think I have no idea what place I’m at because I was getting in the way of many passersby.

Right of the bat, you knew I didn’t care. I was wearing a plain shirt and ragged pants, boat shoes with loosely tied laces. I didn’t look at anyone going in and out of store.

And you just told me about this a little later. The little place we’ve been in, that fate allowed us, all at the same time. Look at the odds. Think about that.

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