let lemons be angry

and i'm so sad
like a good book, i can't put this day back

Once upon a time, there lived a girl who wanted to be a mermaid. It was not that she liked the seawater, or the fishy friends, or the clamshell bras. She did fancy the fishtail, but that wasn't the point. Just like the other little girls who wanted to be Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty or Princess Jasmine, this little girl wanted to be a mermaid so she could meet her Prince Eric, fight an emotional battle and overcome sea witches and culture shocks, and have her Happily Ever After.

Isn't it wonderful that in reality, our life books don't close with the end of our first fairytale? If one promising fairytale doesn't end with rainbows and bouncing animals, it doesn't mean our lives are written off as Hans Christian Andersen tragedies. There's always the next chapter, there's always room for another story. Once upon a time, my fairytale was "that dizzy dancing way you feel", mysteries upon mysteries, ambiguities piled up into pink clouds of April and old photographs of timeless creatures and timeless emotions. We grow up; i grew out of it. I used to think it hopelessly tragic that things moved on and that memories were replaced by new ones. I felt that memories had lives of their owns, and to treasure a memory no more was to kill it and deprive your life of beauty. But no one would be happy that way. Everyone would be living in the past and never making new memories.

I think it's nice, that i spent my last month of holidays going out every other day, and that i'll spend my very last day before term starts sitting on the floor at the timberlux flea market. I'll be miserable when this is all over, but thank you for giving me things i don't want to stop thinking about.

I can't put this day back.