Smokes and The Now

It's just so surprising how I easily forget names. I've been talking to this friend of a friend on the way home, and all those times I was there figuring out what his name was. He was talking about how much he hates Ms. Duque, which I could not even begin to fathom for the reason that Ms. Duque was the only real professor I've had in uni, and...

I just realized I'm not good at this kind of blogging. If I wanted to be pretentious, I could have died continuing what I've written. I'd rather blog obscurely and dissolutely with metaphors, similes, and lots of symbolism. That's why I have a penchant for Virginia Woolf, Death Cab for Cutie, The Book Thief, and Ms. Duque, and perhaps, that's why I am what I am. 

My thoughts are like the cigarette smokes that he loves and I hate. Differentiable? Not in his eyes.