my books were piling up. they called me, asking me to read them. the clock struck 12, i had to sleep.this week was like any other week. it seemed like a daily routine to get up, to set off, to study, to have lunch, to be with friends, to sleep. it dawned on me that it is frightening to have an unfulfilled life.
i had lots of realizations yesterday and today. there is no such thing as routine, love simply is etc.
i just read witch of portobello. i was thinking of buying what i talk about when i talk about running. paulo coelho won instead. i loved the book.
sometimes, i regret how easily i fall in love with things. i love the book thief, my iPod, my laptop, my pencil case, my csd, my bag. i don't want to love these things (that's why i don't give them names) because then i have something to lose. and i hate losing anything i possess. it has the same feeling of seeing one's beloved die. but like death cab for cutie says, love is watching someone (or in this case, something) die. so then i gathered, pain is the heart of love. but death cab for cutie says, it is fear.
is pain really the heart of love? or is it fear?
it's now 935, and my books are still tempting me, begging me, pleading me... for what? for love.
hmmm, pain or fear? i go for both.
