I understand how scissors can beat paper, and I get how rock can beat scissors, but there’s no fucking way paper can beat rock. Is paper supposed to magically wrap around rock and leave it immobile? Why the hell can’t paper do this to scissors? Screw scissors, why can’t paper do this with people? Why aren’t sheets of college ruled notebook paper constantly suffocating students as they take notes in class? I’ll tell you why, because paper can’t beat anybody. When I play rock paper scissors, I always choose rock. Then when somebody claims to have beaten me with their paper I can punch them in the face with my already clenched fist and say, oh shit, I’m sorry, I thought paper would protect you, you asshole! - Anonymous.

Friday, April 6, 2012

Only you can make you happy

For a while there, she had lost her way. Forgotten what it was like to bring a smile on everyone's face. Forgotten her own smile. The eyes had almost stopped sparkling. Was it the reality engulfing the innocence. Was it the pain she had never felt before. Was it the high.

Maybe all of it. Maybe something more. Maybe illusions shattered by truth. One can only comprehend. Cherish what's been and what it will become.

Leave it here because now she knows where to go. Now she knows how to smile again.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

fresh pair of eyes

You and I are going to live tomorrow. Wake up at six am and go for a run in the woods. Yes, we have woods here. There is a spot. A lone wind chime hangs on a tree. I wonder who left it there. It sways and tinkles. Like all wind chimes do. Because of the wind. Unlike the ones that hang in shops tinkled only because of our touch. There also lays a grave of a dog. Beneath that tree. Maybe a cat. Or anyone. Etched on the tree are eroded words. They don't make sense. They faded away. Like life fades away after a while. But the wind chime still tinkles. Slightly rusted; even then cries a melody in the soft rustle of leaves.

Footprints. There are no footprints at that spot. Does anyone even know about its existence. Maybe that is good. We can have it to ourselves. Its peaceful too. And always slightly chilly. Only in the mornings. Early mornings when we are innocent. Because by the time dawn arrives most of us have almost always lied. Or maybe worse. Lets not think about that.

I have never seen flowers there. We could lay some flowers. Yellow ones. Its a happy colour. You'll pluck them from your neighbour's garden? Only some. Secretly of course. Day's not even started and the innocence is already lost. Or not. There is always hope. Yes, hope. A four letter word. A powerful one too. Has a power of its own.

You and I are going to hope tomorrow. Wait, but You don't even exist.