 how could love came into invisible to my eyes?
Dear January, I've been stolen. Probably some of you know that my macbook was, well, I would like to believe it was borrowed, even until now. It feels like I stupidly pressed 'format my computer.' God knows why, God knows how, but I just would like to crawl on a pub, have a cup or two, down them, and laugh about it. But no, some things are better be gone, to let something new grow. In fact, something new was reinstall out of my lost. Something that I once owned was given back to me again. To feel. Yes, I've been deaf, I've been blind, and I've been ignorant. Lost in a little world I created for myself, caged with a tiny self destructive ghost who froze my sentiments. Whom am I competing with? Whom I'm trying to impress? I lost counts of the nights choked myself with caffeine, not even smiling looking at what I've done. January 11, 2015 on a plane from Spain, there she was. Crying along with me. Her shoulder supported the weight of my pain. After the whole time, I never realised she had been laughing along with me for long. I was too blind to see I have never been alone. She has been there the whole time, how could love came into invisible to my eyes? Dear my friend, Angela Wong, I have felt the love you've given to me, you've taught sincerity to an ungrateful girl. You opened my eyes. I was no longer frozen. I hope I could be a blessing like yourself to me. love,
liv
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 Everybody would like to believe they belong in Paris.
Paris, oh Paris. I love Paris, you love Paris, we do love Paris. Who doesn't? Even those who see it on a postcard would fall in love. Everybody would like to believe they belong in Paris. So do I. I used to wish I was born as Parisian, and had spoken French since I was born. Do you? No? Indeed, the city has its soul, and the people posses elegance, but no, we don't love Paris, we love the idea of Paris, the pictures that appears on our social media timeline, the romance on the books we read, and the story about them, being in Paris. We are jealous with Paris, aren't we? Honestly, yes I am. Je ne regrette rien,
Liv |
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