what happens when you hit that three notes.

Like jeans that faded after each wash, like water that evaporates, like stains in your pan, the person one was once so obsessed with would eventually roll out regardless of the bearer's will, whether is it to hold on to, or to forget. Feelings are compressed like mental pills in forms of songs, pathways, scents or change of seasons. They're neither good or bad though: sometimes you couldn't help but half-consciously taking one and to hell with reasoning.

Songs are the strongest memory-striker of mine. Everything that has been long gone could hit me back in three notes. Need not more than that. And here comes a wave of reminiscence by the window - very same spot, minus the rain the daydreaming the affectionate exchanges. Sigh.

Me and this one person share the same surname, surprisingly. In fact, it seems that we always have loose connections that would never trace back to us: we were not meant to be. Such is life, you pick up in a stranger few of the most intimate moments, then the drums roll and the scene changes; afterwards all that is left is the vague recall that once was this stranger you shared loose links with. Like distant-related surname.

I think events (or people) like those are (involuntarily) much needed. There will be a point where I would ask for nothing but a sanctuary but till then, unresolved stories make it a life. One of high hopes, uncertainty, floatlessness, of panda eyes and question marks. Unresolved stories drive me insane for sometimes, but they also give me the reality check of fuck off and let's never see each other again.