Teacup-sized inspiration

I am totally digging the Russian street style mogul, Miroslava Duma ..xx..

http://miroslavaduma.tumblr.com

Sylvia Ji

http://www.sylviaji.com

Time stands still, and yet it is gone in an instant.

They only come every seventeen years they said. No, I do not think so. They are here every year. Can't you hear them hollering at one another? They are the rebellious brothers and sisters that chose not to follow. Nomads. Settlers. Independents. I am thankful they stay, even though they completely overwhelm the night. And how morbid are they? Skeletons they leave. Everywhere, skeletons. Complete shells of their former selves. Phoenix? Caterpillar? I dare say neither. They are too common. Too plentiful. But I am thankful they stay, even though they completely overwhelm the night. Without their presence, an unpleasant, stagnant void would consume the once entrancing night air. They are too common. Too plentiful. Yet too mesmerizing to tell them to stop singing. 

...

...

locus

.. all adventurous women do ..

I have been writing in my notebook (a book of notes/random thoughts) a lot lately.  I think my life has become to hectic.  And yet again, it has become monotonous.  I feel like time is swooshing past me, like a train in the underground, and the only part of it that I notice is the gust of wind that takes me aback.  In that moment, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and allow myself to observe the world around me.  I am able to escape "the real world", even if just for a moment.  In the brief moments my mind wanders and I think of old memories.  To me, the good and the bad memories are both haunting.  I remember the good.  I remember a life I once once lived.  I was naive in high school.  Uptight, now that I think of it.  But I always had fun.  I had a great circle of friends, pretty cool parents, and not a bad academic record if I have to say so myself.  But I also remember the bad.  Yet when a phase of your life slowly burns out and neither party tries to keep the flame alive, the good thing you once had becomes a ghost of the past.  It will haunt me forever.

It's nice though, every once in a while, to replay old times in my head like an old film reel lit up on the bedroom wall.  Time has made the memories a bit grainy and dis-combobbled in places, but I can still remember the moments briefly.  A familiar smell reminds me of my best friend's house when I was younger.  The soft playing of a song in the back ground takes me back to morning drives to school.  I can remember the emotions I felt at the time as well.  When I recall old feelings I have a physical reaction that I am unable to control.  The butterflies that should be in your stomach flutter upward towards my heart.  I am sad.  I realise that my memories are precious moments that I will never be able to live through again.  They are only fragments of time that I can remember.

What about the fragments of time that I will never relive again.  Instead they lie, hidden in the depths of my mind that are unreachable.