let lemons be angry

To look into mirrors to make sure you're still there. To miss peppermint mocha on the second floor of the holland village starbucks with an afternoon to waste. To be eternally grateful that lizards don't have wings. To feel heavy when you hear "Sway" and "Quiet". To need two cats desperately. To be afraid of lightning and feeling left out and saying what you're dying to say. To write diaries because you'll forget what life was made of otherwise. To never be satisfied with yourself. To be insanely jealous for things you don't really care for. To curl up and fit into a chair and fall asleep. To want to eat glass. To put every single thing into God's hands. To have the worst morning possible and think how funny a story it would make. To keep painful things in boxes until they neutralize themselves. To love the tartness of oranges and lemons and hate the sweetness of boiled carrots. To want the fire-taste in food. To dream of beating up kidnappers and snatchthieves. To eat black cherries slowly so they will stain your lips. To have cigar fingers and bubble toes. To think that the anonymity of big cities is beautiful. To feel like a part of hongkong always. To want to belong to somewhere, someone. To press your nose to library books and breathe in their smell, old or new, the smell of air-conditioning and publishing and pages, and to look for the pencil scribblings that readers have left behind. To sincerely want to support the music industry, even if the bands are defunct or dead. To think of people as insects--dragonflies, a single blue butterfly, a sheet of white butterflies, a black moth. To wait. To play it safe. With exceptions.

Do you know what it's like?

Can you honestly say you know me? I want to tell you things that will shock you, that will make you look twice, that will change how we are forever.

I want to know these things about you. Not what you're doing in two months' time, or what your classes are about.

Tell me what you think about when you're on the bus. What vegetables you adore, what colors you detest. What your nightmares consist of.

Don't be a stranger who I can only pretend to know.