Of Reads

It takes something for people to write like that, is it a talent or a skill to be learnt? I have no idea. 

I enjoy reading good writing, they bring me into another world for a moment and it drags you into a world of emotions, soft background music and vivid images in the mind. I like.

Sometimes i wish my writing can bring that same effect to my readers ditto what good writing from others have done to me. I wish.

For now i share with you a beautiful piece on departing, while i link her up onto my blog. I share.


Earlier, we sat side-by-side tucking into a mini feast we had bought ourselves in the airport canteen. "It's almost time to go," you said quietly. Your face was passive, betraying the sadness you told me you felt. Our eyes fixed on each other, I tried to lighten the mood by being silly: "How do you look in someone's eyes? Which eye do you look at?" You just smiled weakly.

We made our way up towards the departure hall, and as we waited for the lift, I pressed my nose against you, trying to take in your smell - the one I love so much. Your mom told us to take a photo before you were to go through the doors flanked by airport personnel. I put my arm around you, not knowing whether to smile - it would be a lie if I did. A tight hug and a kiss later, I found myself watching you walk away. No desperate clutching or crying like the picture I concocted in my head leading up to this moment. I tried to disassociate myself from what was happening, not wanting to cry in public and in front of your family.

I stared out the window in the car ride home, the buildings whizzed by and my mind was a blank. Upon reaching my front gate, I thanked your dad for the ride home and said my goodbyes to your family. I stopped in the living room to pick my cat up for a quick cuddle, and in an empty voice (and still-dry eyes), told my brothers that you had just left. Getting my usual mug of water from the kitchen, I wearily trudged my way up to my bedroom. I locked the door behind me, dropped my bag onto the floor, and flopped onto my bed. I picked up your T-shirts, the ones that couldn't fit into your luggage and still smell of you, pressed them to my face, and the tears started to flow.

This is her