Late night walks home.

Before this world starts up again, it’s me & night.

no apology necessary

“And for the first time I looked into his eyes. They were blue, not light blue, but a darker blue. Not so dark as sapphire blue, not so bright as china blue. They were romantically blue. Lyrically blue. They swam and I swam in them.”

—

“I will apologise for many things that I have done, but I will not apologise for the things that should never be apologised for. …

I will apologise for faithlessness, neglect, deceit, cruelty, unkindness, vanity and meanness, but I will not apologise for the urgings of my genitals nor, most certainly, will I ever apologise for the urgings of my heart. I may regret those urgings, rue them deeply and occasionally damn, blast and wish them to hell, but apologise – no: not where they do no harm.”

“Moab is my Washpot” – Stephen Fry

连拥抱都没有勇气

暧昧让人受尽委屈
找不到相爱的证据
何时该前进 何时该放弃
连拥抱都没有勇气

{楊丞琳 – “曖昧”)

yup.

Sometimes I read something, and then I think to myself “Yup, totally.” And sometimes that induces me to slap myself mentally to wake up my idea.

That’s all. Applied Probability exam’s in about 2 hours. *fingers crossed*

blurry.

In the midst of all the frenzy and the stress, I can’t help but yearn for mindless procrastination which I satisfy too eagerly, like a mummy bird feeding its young. And at other times I stare at lines of text and figures until the blue on white blur into a jumble of indistinct colour, which I hardly even notice, whilst thinking of moments past. I think of sweet memories, they always come back with sweeter, like they were ripening in my mind, all the negative emotions lost in time. I pull out memories of dreams, sleepily forgotten as the day goes on, sometimes thinking how bizarre they were, sometimes thinking of how I wish they were real, and how real it felt in the depths of slumber, and sometimes at the edge of wakefulness and dreaming, I recall how it actually was a memory.