I noticed I've been blogging on a daily basis. This has almost become my second home. Everyday I tell myself there's not much reasons for me to blog everyday, yet everyday something has to happen that I have to choose between coming here, or blow my chest up like a punctured balloon.
Today is no exception.
"Small gestures are sufficient to betray the fake front you painstakingly put up, and reveal the coarse, naked and real inherent flaws within."My spirits were on the high as I combed through shops in Parkway Parade, despite the alarm souding in my account, signifying balance which is already below a certain critical level. But all rosy pinkish picture of a happy birthday wish crumbled at the arrival of a one-sentenced, plain and lame excuse which came in the form of an SMS.
At this juncture, nothing seems appropriate to be said, without somebody getting hurt.
I'll just have to bid goodbye, to my rosy pinkish happy birthday wish.
-Because it has lost its meaning, which was once attached to "sincerity". Even if the rosy pinkish picture of a happy birthday wish came alive, it would just stem out of mere obligation.Would turning nineteen, I wonder, mean anything - any at all - to
YOU?