just minishorts.

It's been a while since I looked at the album of my past. The snapshots of a memory sealed, things that make me me. I remember the breathless moments, the times I swooned over words scrawled over a concave screen. Those were the times, not too long ago, when I was younger, and more idealistic, less cynical, and more liberal with the abuses.

I thought it was cool.

At every sudden pitstop in life, you pause to catch your breath and suddenly, everything you used to think was cool becomes uncool. Even the word 'cool' is outdated now, we're into l33t stuff and what not, and then, I'm not really like that. I prefer the medium paces we take, the steps you make when you walk not so deliberately yet almost purposefully.

And then you wonder what's up with her these days, what the heck is she talking about?

You wonder, with private blogs do they keep as much as you want them to keep? For those who know and who have been let in the know, would you respect me just as much as I hope you would? The times we've smiled together, and then the times I've let you down, I want to say I'm sorry, but sorry doesn't really matter to you. Sometimes, even after revenge is taken you still feel bad enough to want to kill the innocents. That's how it really is, isn't it?

Maybe you'll strike it lucky like me, one night after a heated week of disappointments, when your spirits are let down and you think you'll take a lifetime climbing up the ladder again, you take a chance-given lot, and walk into a local Indian-Muslim stall, you order a mug of limau-panas, and then you say to the stranger, 'Hello, my name is Claire. I'm an editor.'

And you talk, and you talk. And then you smile.

Somewhere in the clouds, Lady Fate was tying the knots. She knew long before we knew, that a year and a few months later, we'd be arguing and shouting our names, we'd be crying and scratching at each other's necks, yes, always, always we will fight, or at least every once in a full moon (because blue moons don't happen). But after the strangling, there'll be the kisses and soft lip-caresses, the way you say 'Dear', the smile on your lips and the 'thank yous', and I sigh and I thank Him because he's given me a gift. I'm grateful for that, and everything You've taught me to see.

It's quite nice to be dreamy sometimes. I'm just afraid one day I forget how to. At least I can promise I'll try not to forget.

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