Whiteboard
Within four plastered white walls.
With just your book and you.
With the same old smell of paper.
Same old wooden table.
Same old stain of ink.
Same old dusty lamp.
Sometimes it drives you to think:
Does our whole existence only revolve around this?
These things that we store in our head,
writing it down,
sticking it under our bed,
hoping that one day it might be found,
useful when we're all already dead.
Strange isn't it?
How sometimes everything seems so clear but yet so vague.
Its like a kind of mechanism that runs our lives.
Giving us reasons that sometimes we can't even understand.
And yet we're running along double-edged knifes,
Risking everything for things we can hardly apprehend.
Anyway im glad my prelims are over.
No more late nights and random thoughts...
Well... at least for the time being.
Cheers.
Scribbled onto the Whiteboard on
Saturday, September 23, 2006
12:19 AM
Some people talk and talk
and never say a thing.
Some people look at you
and birds begin to sing.
Some people laugh and laugh
and yet you want to cry.
Some people touch your hand
and music fills the sky.
-Charlotte Zolotow-
Scribbled onto the Whiteboard on
Thursday, September 7, 2006
8:17 AM
DJustin
Justin
18th December 1989
Ngee Ann Polytechnic
zs_9457@hotmail.com
