Teheheh (II)
I woke up at 11 30 AM today, a full eight hours of sleep behind me. The first thing that came into my mind was yesterday. Realised I couldn’t picture her [refer to previous post] already.
I lay in bed, searching through a haze. The room was dark because the curtains were up, but not totally. A sliver of light [as usual] lay across my pillows. [Just for info Ive got 5 of them, 4 soft toys and two bolsters. Four of the pillows have been with me for over a decade already.] It was a feeling of surrealism I felt then, like I had just awakened from a dream, a lovely dream. The very fact that I couldn’t picture her features helped contribute to that feeling. All I could grasp of yesterday was wisps of nothingness, no joke.
Dreams. Have you ever awakened from one and couldn’t recall what was the dream exactly? And yet the beauty of it is that the some residue of feelings get retained within you—I felt strangely euphoric, and yet I couldn’t remember why. Very misty, mystical feeling.
But gradually, everything came back to me. First her grey uniform. Shirt tucked in with a skirt that wasn’t unnecessarily short. And then her slingbag which wasn’t unlike mine, though she carried it differently. Grey too. And then her long, untied hair. Her spectacles, with roughly the same degree as mine [tried it on], her skin paler than mine, and then finally her face. Recalled the way she walked too, with arms folded across her front. She never did quite get used to my way of walking btw, appearing on the left then the right.
It s perhaps worthy of note that after being able to picture the physical, the feelings of surrealism diminished.
Anyway, something I forgot to mention yesterday in my enthusiasm in penning down the day’s events. She had grabbed my notes from my breast pocket at the bus-stop yesterday, the notes containing my naked thoughts of the day. I was so frantic—she was mentioned in it of course—that I made a wild grab for it, and failing which, took hold of her waist so she couldn’t *escape*. She never did mean to read it, because she could have either opened it there and then while preventing me from grabbing the notes, or simply run away after grabbing it from my pocket. And she gave in a bit too easily. Maybe she had felt ticklish; she definitely was laughing. Everything was done and over in a flash, but it was the first time I ever held a female so closely, if only momentarily. Oh dear me.
I hope you appreciate the double-meanings in that last paragraph. I released her in the end.
I lay in bed, searching through a haze. The room was dark because the curtains were up, but not totally. A sliver of light [as usual] lay across my pillows. [Just for info Ive got 5 of them, 4 soft toys and two bolsters. Four of the pillows have been with me for over a decade already.] It was a feeling of surrealism I felt then, like I had just awakened from a dream, a lovely dream. The very fact that I couldn’t picture her features helped contribute to that feeling. All I could grasp of yesterday was wisps of nothingness, no joke.
Dreams. Have you ever awakened from one and couldn’t recall what was the dream exactly? And yet the beauty of it is that the some residue of feelings get retained within you—I felt strangely euphoric, and yet I couldn’t remember why. Very misty, mystical feeling.
But gradually, everything came back to me. First her grey uniform. Shirt tucked in with a skirt that wasn’t unnecessarily short. And then her slingbag which wasn’t unlike mine, though she carried it differently. Grey too. And then her long, untied hair. Her spectacles, with roughly the same degree as mine [tried it on], her skin paler than mine, and then finally her face. Recalled the way she walked too, with arms folded across her front. She never did quite get used to my way of walking btw, appearing on the left then the right.
It s perhaps worthy of note that after being able to picture the physical, the feelings of surrealism diminished.
Anyway, something I forgot to mention yesterday in my enthusiasm in penning down the day’s events. She had grabbed my notes from my breast pocket at the bus-stop yesterday, the notes containing my naked thoughts of the day. I was so frantic—she was mentioned in it of course—that I made a wild grab for it, and failing which, took hold of her waist so she couldn’t *escape*. She never did mean to read it, because she could have either opened it there and then while preventing me from grabbing the notes, or simply run away after grabbing it from my pocket. And she gave in a bit too easily. Maybe she had felt ticklish; she definitely was laughing. Everything was done and over in a flash, but it was the first time I ever held a female so closely, if only momentarily. Oh dear me.
I hope you appreciate the double-meanings in that last paragraph. I released her in the end.
4 Comments:
There is always a first to everything.
cant help but cringe in laughter.
jj
Oh my poor old ailment re-surfaces. Masking my laughter in terrible bouts of coughing. Ouch. But the grin-smile remains.
Psyche
you have a lot of stuff on your bed!
Post a Comment
<< Home