These days we cook ourselves. Sometimes joking and laughing as we jerked away from the splatter of boiling oil. Or doing serious analysis on why the dish failed to taste like what it should taste like... Ran down to grab some drinks when we felt like it. Or walk in the rain with our head covered in school magazine as scapegoat umbrella. On Monday and Tuesday it was pasta all the way till we sickened at the site of the supercoil. Then the night falls and street light casts a misty spell on the rain soaked neighbourhood. Chilly refreshing. And there's nothing more but to nestle once again in my own room, waiting for another day to quietly pass by.
Somehow i wish, somehow i know. Watching the colours rolling by, against something abstractly distant and blank, pure. And peace brewing and settling, in times you need it the most.
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