Writings of a Phobophobe.
“It’s as if we’re made to move in parallel,” she said.
“It seems to me that he showed there wasn’t a point to fight for me, for us.”
“Well then, what’re you waiting for? Run along.”
I’d just barely concluded my statement when I heard screeching rubber soles from her shoe. It has started raining and there she was, stiff with gaping lips.
I traced her line of sight to a spruce lad, curiously staring at her with a seemingly habitual cheeky smile.
I remember this sun. This is the happy sun. Feeling how it burns on my skin, it reminded me of happy times. Happy times when I was in Korea traveling on my own and taking photos with newly acquainted strangers. It was the same sun when I exited the fruit farm in Shanghai. It was the same sun when we set out with the yacht at Punggol Marina. The same sun I woke up to, to fall asleep on the bench of a neighborhood swimming pool. And all of these were times when I was present and indulging in that moment, of how beautiful the world, of how beautiful it is, to just live.
killgwen 