of people, lights & chairs.

i would love to visit the blue house one day.

today the journey some sort of died.
our paired presentation ended. (sorry dearest partner but i am sad for another reason heh.)

i felt as if she escaped from my lips into the air.
and seriously, there are few who sees her art and think.
" that's what i would draw if i had a good set of art sense."

we are both self-centred and self-obsessed depressed cynics.
depression not being the normal clinical depressant,
not the common buoyant sadness that gnaws at you,
not that depraved hellhole.
not those deep cesspools of hurt.

rather a seperate entity, a pet, a friend, a soulmate sort of depression.
moderate, extreme.
maybe a little pinch and nip
or sometimes it rides up our thighs of tide.
its a bitter personal illness.
its a self-professed obsession.
its a scale question.
its a scathing comment.
its a compromise.
its a sale trade;
we auction for the devil.
whoever baked the truffles, eat them.

if i ever go to the blue house,
i would stare at all those eyes you gave to the rest and me.
you are an intruiging lady bee.

and i am in love with celebrity bags.