New Beginnings
I have spent many.many.hours on this layout. *glances in exhaustion at Raito, whose only purpose is to stand there and look pretty.*
Really sleepy now, but there isn’t school tomorrow so I’m making the most out of it. *grins* [The exams are over, Lizzy is FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE~~~!!!!] XD
Heh… *yawns*
Just had dinner with Mom, Sis and Raymond. Have decided that the sausages at Brewerks are still da BOMB. (Implying that tonight’s dinner was far from satisfactory.) The desserts at Baker’s Inn, of course, stand equally unrivalled with NYDC and the miscellanous hotels that we’re fond of patronizing.
Wasn’t in much of a festive mood even though it is technically speaking, the last day of my 2004 Final Terms. The Chinese paper completely ruined my mood.
Hows the layout anyway? I’m rather fond of it, the design I mean. Despite spending nearly 10 hours just to perfect the coding, I’m still rather unhappy with the way it turned out, as well as the fact that I’ve to lower my div layer just so my text will be legible.
In dire need of good reading material. Any to recommend, people? The fantasy/sci-fi genre is particularly welcomed at present time. =)
Anyway wrote this little piece of poetry yesterday when I was feeling a little frustrated. S’pose it’d take up a nifty bit o’ space and make my stark white blog a little less stark and a little less white. I don’t know what to call it, so for now its just called Me.
-Start-
She stares in misery
At what she once knew
A worn blue pen
And white paper anew
They said she had talent
She said they were wrong
For there was once talent
But it didn’t last long
It came to her once
The talent was there
But her friends were few
And her life was bare
Alone she would sit
And away she would write
But her eyes brimmed with tears
As she cried out each night
Each day she was there
And people would pass
Smiling and laughing
But they never did last
Her pen was friend
Her pen was her foe
She hated her pen
And her stories untold
Her writing was good
The world had agreed
But she was so lonely
So friendless indeed
And so then she wanted
To somehow belong
But not without pain
For the talent was gone
She met plenty of people
And made plenty of friends
But it meant that her
Writing days came to an end
No longer were her words
An expression of gift
The exit that talent
Made was too swift
She had what she wanted
She had her true friends
She knew what it was to
Be happy again
But where was the talent?
Where were the words?
She wrote not another
For it was absurd
Her words came in trickles
Her ideas were few
Her mind had redrawn
There was naught to reveal
She had then a choice
For now she was two
One for the friendships
And one for her tool
She sat and she pondered
She wished just to write
But not to lose the friends
That she gained in her plight
She wanted her pen
And her words to flow
But because of her friends
It was hard to let go
And so she now sits
A pen in her hand
Crumpled white paper
Piled up and spent
Silent in need
TO keep the two she holds dear
But salvation seems far off
And hope is not hear
She cries out to be able
To write smoothly once more
But she hears no reply;
For there’s no one at all.
-End-
Alright, comments are welcomed. This poem best describes what I’ve been feeling lately, just in case your inferencial skilss are that abysmal.
Shall go work on my wishlist now, since someone keeps reminding me about it. =P Somehow I don’t see how it’d benefit me to have a wishlist, no one ever gets me anything on it anyway. o_O
