Dying butterflies and what not.
*referring to the comment left in my entry below*
Honestly why are you even reading my blog if it bores you? Do you honestly have nothing better to do than read lousy semi entertaining literature?
Well, if that is the case, I highly recommend Chris Bui.
This is a snippet for your amusement:
After months of pent-up emotions like a caffeine-addict trying to kick the habit, Cathy finally let the tears come, at first dripping sporadically like an old clogged percolator, then increasing slowly like a 10-cup coffeemaker with an automatic drip, and eventually pouring out and noisily wailing like a cappuccino maker complete with slurping froth. – (Bui, Chris. Philadelphia. 1999)
Hope you enjoyed the little preview Anonymous. Now if you would excuse me, I have other shit to talk about. Kindly make your way to the wonderful Mr.Bui and shut the door behind you. Thanks very much.
On a completely separate life line and feigned gusto for the Easter weekend, I realized on this quiet Saturday night of mine that Love likes to trick you. Similar to a surprise wedgie. I don’t mean that it would catch you off guard between your legs (no names). In this case, I’m referring it to a wedgie like the sudden rip, the pang of pain and then the snap. You are unsure of where to direct the anger and hurt. The person who caused it or you, who’s feeling it.
Nothing will heal and hurt, glorify and mortify, break and mend you like Love. And this Love thing, what makes it so potent and menacingly precarious is that it can still make you feel so darn happy after the beatings of a storm. A simple smile, a kiss and the worst symptoms have been mitigated.
Damn it 😦