subject: lovestory.
time: 11:20am
music: angels or demons - dishwalla
mood: not in a working mood most definitely!

sayang, it doesnt matter if we never know what to say, never have the correct answers or say the wrong things at the utmost inappropriate moments - we'll just remember to appreciate how i devour words, while you paint your feels - papercut tongue and all so you can understand how someone can be both compassion and selfish, and i will learn euphoria (and be extroverted about it all). it really doesn't matter that we've never had a proper conversation, much less the obligatory stolen glances between lovers. it doesn't matter even if we've never whispered sweet nothings into each other's ears, never shared a special song, never had a first dance, never walked barefoot by the beach while listening to the waves crashing on the sand with wild, angry romance. it doesnt matter that we hurt; the grey would inevitably engulf the lies, the failures, the defeats, and sadness could be erased into the multi-coloured layers of facades.

together, we write pretty poetry for our dreams whilst admiring the world through wonka's levitating glass elevator. you'll get my passions, and have plenty of your own. and i shall discard forever, this torrential visceral trampling, the alive and raging and powerful eternal wound which meant that i died (and will die) again and again when people said i love you; because today is a brand new day. and i tingle as i watch your fingers caress the air as you spell out, "i love you" and with satisfied grins we shall stare through the open windows, expecting a meteor to streak the midnight skies.

the air is warm, heavy and dense; like honeyed silence - it had always been, in this romantic comedy sans soundtrack.