Misplaced

After a year, everything seems still to be misplaced.
Like a carton of white milk outside the refrigerator, a Vogue subscription form lying wet on the bathroom, a camera inside the wardrobe, books under the table, dolls upside down, keyboard near the empty wrapper of instant cappuccino. Broken sofa on the crowded street.

Your messages, dated almost a year ago.
I still have them completely. Like stamps of dead philatelist but also like lyric of an instrumental song.
Your face, his face, my fate.

My little heart.

After a year, everything seems still to be misplaced.

To Joulise Joulisa

Hey there Joulise,

From the way you held the camera, I could tell that you weren’t okay. Well, maybe you are always not because you doubt the universe, and your idea of falling in love, and any kind of faith.

Trust me Joulise,
We can never live a life if it is not upon the Earth or under the tales of the end of the rainbow, with a happily ever after scene of Apple Pie Princess and Prince that had just turned back handsome guy after being a gastropod. But we have to deal with the reality, that guys can be gay, or jerks, or ugly, or all, and sometimes we can’t choose.

We can live with or without beer, but life is on its best when we are not drunk. When we can hear even the smoothest noise, when we can see the picture, big or small, not closely, but clearly. Not instantly but directly. Not silently, but not halfheartedly.

Joulise Joulisa,

This is not about you or me. This is not about Holga or Diana. This is not about Paris or Sydney. This is not about Silas or Jonas. This is not about our horoscope, or our good lives. What I mean is, be still, and be good. Be fine, and be glad. Sometimes, take a fresh dawn air. Walk outside, and put your sweater on. Don’t be sad.

I wish your name were started with P.

 
 

With love,

 
 
 
 

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Overcaffeinated Random Thoughts: Part 3.00

Do you remember the ticket to Pluto I gave you a half (or more) years ago? I don’t have any reason to remember it except the facet that I heart the idea of giving people those kind of imaginary tickets. I envy you because you already got one, you jerk!

Well, I’m not writing this to have a monologue about one of my biggest regret in my love life.

Wait, do I have a love life? Fucking no. Oh yes. My boyfriend is a camera who thinks that he maybe needs a Tamron tele-lens. Keep dreaming, Okio!