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  • Patricia // leftoverjinx

    Patricia // leftoverjinx

    Majority of my friends call me Trish, I guess you could call me the same. I'm a transcriptions editor with a really messed up body clock and never ending affinity for films, food, and written words. I like sweets, neutrals and monochromes, street art, window seats, golf carts and traveling with my friends. Some of the things that sometimes completely preoccupy me is my fixation with the now defunct THE CIVIL WARS and their beautiful art of sadness, CSS and HTML (I could do it all day long), and those damn hypnotizing Tasty videos. Top country in my travel bucketlist? Iceland. But the one that will always have my heart? Hong Kong.

    Walking On Eggshells

    Once upon a time, there was a boy who held my heart. The memory of how he possessed it is already so distant and fuzzy, but I knew it didn't start with the most intelligent conversations, or silent stares, or uncomfortable pauses, or coaxing, or fluttering, irregular heartbeats. He had it for so long, it almost resembled infinity. The promise of 'better' was always just a promise. And I had so much faith in him, he was almost my religion.

    Once upon a time, there was another boy who stole my heart. My heart still belonged to someone else but he managed to creep in, slowly filling my arteries, until my heart can only pump nothing but thoughts of him. The promise of 'better' was not just a promise but a reality. But I always knew that he could never ever hold my heart because he was too afraid. But I had so much faith in him, I believed I would win this otherwise losing game.

    Once upon a time, I had to leave it all behind. And I did.

    And now, there is another boy that I always dream about. He only appears in between those moments when I catch forty winks. He floods my subconscious with pleasant things but he's nothing but a vague memory when I wake up, his mumbled lullabies resonate in my ears. And as a friend once told me, "We could always dream of other dreams."

    He exists only within a song. He takes form at the first beat of the instrument, moves along with the words, pierces my heart with subtleties and disappears as an echo in my head. He's nothing but embers slowly dissipating and metaphors and hushes and shushes.

    He comes alive as a secret.
    He's tangible but volatile.
    He's an ephemeral addiction.

    'And when the alarm wakes me from my dream,
    I seem to lose all that compliments your silhouette.'


    Once upon a time, there was a boy who held my heart. The memory of how he possessed it is already so distant and fuzzy, but I knew it didn't start with the most intelligent conversations, or silent stares, or uncomfortable pauses, or coaxing, or fluttering, irregular heartbeats. He had it for so long, it almost resembled infinity. The promise of 'better' was always just a promise. And I had so much faith in him, he was almost my religion.

    Once upon a time, there was another boy who stole my heart. My heart still belonged to someone else but he managed to creep in, slowly filling my arteries, until my heart can only pump nothing but thoughts of him. The promise of 'better' was not just a promise but a reality. But I always knew that he could never ever hold my heart because he was too afraid. But I had so much faith in him, I believed I would win this otherwise losing game.

    Once upon a time, I had to leave it all behind. And I did.

    And now, there is another boy that I always dream about. He only appears in between those moments when I catch forty winks. He floods my subconscious with pleasant things but he's nothing but a vague memory when I wake up, his mumbled lullabies resonate in my ears. And as a friend once told me, "We could always dream of other dreams."

    He exists only within a song. He takes form at the first beat of the instrument, moves along with the words, pierces my heart with subtleties and disappears as an echo in my head. He's nothing but embers slowly dissipating and metaphors and hushes and shushes.

    He comes alive as a secret.
    He's tangible but volatile.
    He's an ephemeral addiction.

    'And when the alarm wakes me from my dream,
    I seem to lose all that compliments your silhouette.'


    . Tuesday, April 22, 2014 .

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