Exhilarating Resplendency.

I lie awake; restless. Though my lids close, my eyes dash about, eager for even a glimpse of light through their twitching slits. I furrow my brow, and squeeze my sight shut. My entire body responds in tension: hands ball, and toes curl. I begin to shudder.

But peace comes suddenly; I release. Every muscle relaxes, and I have been shifted.
Refreshing. I inhale, drinking in and savouring the night air. It is sharp and crisp, and yet, more like swallowing a mouthful of ice-cold water on a warm summer's evening. The air wafts through my lungs, chilly and wintry; still, my heart remains ever warm - it even overflows - and ever so sweetly floods through my veins.

My fists alleviate. Lush, dewy grass softly caresses at my palms, brushing tenderly through my loosening fingers. It is a cool, and yet somehow, a pleasant touch, not unlike a mild drizzle that leaves one with treasures of fragile diamonds in their cupped hands.

Gently, my eyes unfold - and then, brilliance.
A deep blue-black blanket glimmering with speckles of white dawns on my vision. A crescent moon smiling down, and I - or we - lying down, simply admiring.

And all of a sudden, it is so much more like gazing into the eyes of a significant other.

I would like to share this with you. You don't have to be important to me... For I only long for such beauty to flow throughout my veins, and send chills running down every nerve in my body. To breathe in the fresh, crisp breeze of a chilly evening, and to feel the soft undergrowth tickle at my limbs...To experience a wonderous night as this, even with one whom I know not well at all...
It is truly a special moment, truly, and a moment to simply savour.

And even if it just for this time that I spend feeling like this, even but for a mere moment, that is all I ask. That is all I will need.

LOL, Sarah.

In The Valley.

It is much like this; like flowers in a valley.

---
At the mouth of a valley, you know what you are about to face. Deep, dark secrets linger about the musty air, whispering quietly, harshly, against the damp, mossy walls. Just one step in, and the wind arouses- it is excited. A small breeze isn't a breeze at all- you are suddenly cold, and your entire body is on edge. That presence that so comfortingly followed you before, now feels almost absent, and you are left almost utterly alone. The sun that urged you on so warmly, so encouragingly, and so surely, has escaped from the eve of the valley, it is swept away with the wind. There is nothing that would bid you onwards, unless you knew, and absolutely trusted that beyond every valley, a hill resides, and will return you to the crisp air, and the warm embrace of the sun once again.

And you do know this. So onwards, you walk, into the damp, into the unknown. The path is rocky - if it was to say that there is any path at all. Stray roots from under deadened trees seem to want to strangle your footing, and often you stumble, but you do not fall, for you are still strong from the sun's provision. But the darkness drifts towards you, slowly, inevitably, and ebbs away at any remaining light that you so depend on. You squint your eyes. Soon enough, they'll adjust, mind you. They were made cunningly for such moments as this. Your hands are stretched as far as arm's length will allow, and you feel your way through, for as surely as the darkness has settled, your vision has faded. You waver around. Nothing is familiar. You grope, and shuffle about... the wind is like the cold belly of a snake slithering along your shoulders, sending shivers down your spine. You slow down, and stop. You know you cannot turn back. But what can you do when you cannot see beyond this lingering darkness? But your vision is adjusting, slowly, surely, and soon, you see something.

Ahead, a single flower resides. It seems to be illuminated by a tiny stream of light, and though it is clouded and murky from the polluted air that you must breathe, the blossom gleams like stars against the night sky as it stems from a black pit within the crevasse of the valley. It shines. And it reminds you once again, of that hill- that beautiful hill, sprouting in abundance with flora, and streams that run alongside green grass where you may be laid to rest, under the shade of a flourishing tree bearing bright, ripened fruit. That hill is abundance - and it is where you are going once you conquer the dangers, the fears, and the insecurities hidden deep in the heart of the valley.

And so, you can take another step. But be careful! For you must not take the flower with you. The flower cannot sustain you, for as soon as you uproot it from its habitat, surely, it will wither, and die. You perhaps should leave it there, and simply be reminded of the abundance of which the flower originated from. How can something so alive, so full of joy and prosperity, live in such a deathly valley? Surely, if this flower has been conditioned to bear the harshest that this valley has to offer, and yet is still cared for, and brims with such warmth and goodness, surely, you are cared for just as well, if not more, and can journey safely, soundly into the depths of the dark.

Memories of that flower- no, of your destination: that hill - must linger in your mind, but as you wade through the darkness, darkness eats away at all seeming joy. It seems to feed on you - as you resonate with joy, darkness growls, and and magnifies. If you had carried that flower with you, and had drawn your strength from its warmth, surely it has failed you now. Its life has waned, for it is no longer sustained, and can no longer sustain you. You can no longer hope in it, for what precious life it had, nestled within the crevasses and cracks of the valley, you have stolen from.

A feeble flower. You cannot rely on it. But bear in mind the reminders it holds: its life is so sufficiently provided for in the darkest of dark. It is a signature of blessing; a reminder of the place you journeyed from, and venture towards once again. And, just as the little thing gleamed in a tiny shed of light, surely, the sun has not faded. The valley may impair your vision, but it cannot destroy the sun it so desperately tries to hide from you.

And so you continue. But the darkness grows ever darker, and your vision wanes, and your strength fails, and you begin to lose heart. Don't lose heart! Look left! Look right! Find those flowers that are sprouting up among the darkness! Though they do not sustain you, they remind you that this valley cannot destroy even the most delicate of beings, and it will most unequivocally not be able to conjure up the strength to destroy you, for, though the sun may fade, and warmth may be deficit, though your body fails, and provisions are scarce, the one who calls you is faithful, and He will carry you through.

These blossoms; though there are not many, they are sufficient. They are like lamps that guide your path. Even in your darkest hour, a little lamp will shine through, not beyond your vision, and it will light your way.

The valley can no longer overcome you. It never could, for though the darkness seeps in, and steals away our warmth, it is not warmth that we rely on. And these flowers, though their warmth is temporary, and we cannot journey onwards with them in our grasp, they instill in us the hope that we have that cannot be taken away, for surely we will be delivered, just as these flowers spring from the darkest, murkiest habitats known to man, and we will reach the promised land, flowing with milk and honey. Land of abundance.

---
Indeed, it is so much like this. Our blessings, like flowers in our deepest turmoils. And though God's presence may seem distant, we do not lose heart, for as surely as the sun rises, He is faithful to us, and He will never leave us or forsake us.

And though we are blessed, we do not place our hope in these blessings, but on the one who provides them. For where God is, there life is also, like flowers...
Even in the deepest valleys.

PTL, Sarah.

In Heaven's Wake.

The more I think about it, the more selfish it is.

Isn't life... so much more? So much more than materialistic and monetary value? Much more than gain?
Isn't life so much more than me? And yet, we are so wrapped up in ourselves that we have no time for others.
We label them; student, worker, businessman, police woman. But who are they? Does no one know? Can anyone identify an individual? Does anyone know someone's life story, besides their own?
We can't. We simply cannot, even for the hope of the world.

Life is more than superficiality, gain, riches. Everyone knows it. But for those without hope, who else can they turn to?

---
I've written a story, but I will not have a direct post of it. I have provided a link to it; click here if you wish to read. By no means do I abuse such a time as this... And with everything I have, I mean it in the deepest of respects.

But I just wanted to say.. sorry. For I'm so caught up in my own skin, that I have no time to mourn for you. But I earnestly pray that you are lifted up to a place of rest, and a place where it is okay for you to cry. For He comforts. And He loves.

But I am torn. For it is especially times like these where I want to jump out of my own skin; to escape it, and forget about my own selfish and insignificant desires. I want to cry with them... And yet, I feel that myself has once again drawn centre focus. And it is a wretched feeling. My spirit is perturbed... But life, far greater, far beyond comprehension, and all I can think of is myself?
Selfish. And as silly as ever.

But even in my deepest regret of narcissism, my condolences go out to you. As hopeless, as selfish, and as greedy as I am, with little goodness that is in my heart, I give you Love. If not mine, His. For I know that He sees your strength, and how you stand. He knows the innermost depths of your heart. And just as He fell from the skies, so too, along with you, in all your inequities and pain, He is lifted on high in glory.

Hosanna,
Amen.

---
I do not seek approval, I do not seek attention.

RIP, for you wake up in heaven.

Sarah.

Effortless Extravagance.

The Greatness of our God - Hillsong

Please listen to at least 5 seconds (up to 26 if you will) of this song, because the first five seconds of this song unlocked from within me such an outpour of awe... As you can see here what follows this sentence... (:

---
It's just as if a butterfly flutters across the keys, gently hopping from one note to the other- it would do so with such delicacy and precision. Its mere touch was barely anything, but somehow more than enough, for just as it lands, it takes off again. The butterfly, so elegantly poised, rises from its first residence, still ringing of cherished beauty, towards its neighbouring residence for another ounce of resounded prettiness to be left there too.

Then, it waits.

First, with a single - quick, but unrushed- stretch of its wings, outwards first to ever so humbly reveal the stunning beauty adorned upon the unknowing butterfly's wings; and then restored to their former, closed position, as if the little darling knew to be modest- that You could only ever catch a glimpse of beauty, but you could not nor should ever bathe in its splendour for too long...

And then again, it nimbly leaps into the air, enjoying the stretch of its arched wings, as well as the freedom in which it could move, all the while leaving a trill of inspired awe in its wake as it fluttered away, perfect and pure.

How 'free' every movement of this butterfly seemed! And yet, it was so precise- it seemed to be made to exact beauty in all its splendour and glory- and yet there is that ever present modesty and humble stature that resides from within, because it just knows this: that it is not beautiful because the lovely being wanted to be, but instead because its loving Creator wanted it to be.

So as this meek, little butterfly flutters so daintily away, we are left with so much more than its extravagance, its pleasant beauty and the ring of pleasant music that follows it, but so much more of the wonder of its creator, who made it so perfectly, so that it illuminates His spirit of excellence in its entirety, even in what it leaves behind.

*PTL, Sarah.

*Praise The Lord; and also a substitute for a while, as long as my blogs remain, to me, glorifying to God.

Harmonious Hustling.

"Don't look outside of the boat!" Your voice was raised so high, trying to gather my full attention. The rapids were moving ever faster now, and I could barely see any hope of our survival.

Waters splashed heavily into the boat, and drenched me entirely. Rocks seemed to spit out from the hungry rapids, and it was as if the rapids were taunting us; the rocks were bones from its last victim, and we would be their next. The ferocious waves snarled and snapped at us from the exterior of the boat, and drooled all over us with its rushing water as it pounded into the sides of the boat. I shook violently in fear and anxiety... How could we make it? How could we make this, when so many other people have died trying?

I lent towards the end of the boat, and all I could see were these majestic waves smashing against rocks of every size, each with significantly sharp, jagged edges. The moment I looked over the side, the boat too, was thrown aside into the point of a particularly jagged rock, and bits of wood from the boat was shattered into pieces; the bits flew everywhere, partly cutting me, and partly cutting you also.

"Stop moving!" you said, but I was flailing hopelessly at the tremendous odds against us in surviving these rapids. You were steering the boat, I know, but they said even the most experienced sailors had difficulties in the rapids. I tried to close my eyes, but as soon as I did, I lost my balance, and I was thrown from side to side; the boat rocked more violently than ever, and I could barely pick myself up when I heard your voice again.

"Look at me! Please, just focus on me!" Your voice was still raised, and strained… not out of anger, but out of desperation. You wanted to see this through even more than I did. And suddenly, there was an ounce of hope that I heard from within your voice, and I turned to you in an instant.

"Just watch me..." Your voice trailed off as you continued to work at the oars, moving so sharply, yet so fluidly to keep the boat in balance. I could do nothing, of course, because you were the driver, but I watched as you began to rock in sync with the boat, and with the rapids, swiftly moving your oars back and forth to manoeuvre the boat around the larger rocks.

I set my eyes on you, and I concentrated on watching you move and sway about. All of a sudden, you did not look frantic or panicky as you controlled the boat; instead, you looked rested, in control, and full of hope for our survival. Soon, I my body was guided by your movements; I swayed as you swayed, leaned as you leaned.

"Brace yourself," you muttered, but I already knew that you wanted me to, and I ducked as you ducked, stead-fastedly holding to the sides of the boat as the rapids continued to spit rocks and shattered wood at us. I squinted as flying objects were thrown in our direction, cutting and biting into our skin; I winced at the pain, but I refused to take my eyes off you. Somehow, I knew that if I just obeyed your commands, I would see the end with more than just my skin on... but that I will have learnt to fully trust in you, because you know what you are doing, where you are going, with my safety as your topmost priority.

---

Does this not seem to paint a picture of our sailor, who tries to guide us, and show us the way in rocky streams, and rushing rapids?

PTL, Sarah.

Wallowing Awe.

The earth begins to shake, and the clouds gather in tumultuous fury. Thunder rumbles, and causes the earth to tremour in absolute fear. Droplets fall quickly, and all too soon become silver bullets penetrating the parched soils of the earth.

The clouds weep uncontrollably, and the earth wallows in its salty, dirty tears. The thunders bellow and roar, and vast claps of lightning encompass the gloomy sky. The clouds wail in fury, and with each cry, thunderbolts pervade throughout the mourning darkness.

But beyond the fury and the majesty of the tempest dysphoria, there is no more than broken anguish. The formidable roars are no more than the constant wailing of a morose heart, and the thick blanket of black is no more than a veil to disclose a grieving storm. The thunderous claps and clamours of lightning are no more than the bloodshot eye of the storm, drenching the deserted earth with its flood of tears.

And perhaps the storm is no more than a reflection of the sheer sadness of God as He weeps over His dying creation.

---
Jesus wept...

... And the earth cried along with Him.

And we, who are nothing, are swept into the awe of Christ, and we are immersed in the eternal presence of His majesty.

LOL, Sarah.

Seminary Donuts.

Two things you should know before reading this:
1. I didn't write it; I'm sorry but all I have to say is sad stuff, and I don't want to say sad stuff. Not myself at the moment.
2. Try and read it. It's worth the read.

There was a boy by the name of Steve who was attending Seminary in Utah. In this Seminary, classes are held during school hours.

Brother Christianson taught Seminary at this particular school. He had an open-door policy and would take in any student that had been thrown out of another class as long as they would abide by his rules. Steve had been kicked out of his sixth period and no other teacher wanted him, so he went into Brother Christianson's Seminary class.

Steve was told that he could not be late, so he arrived just seconds before the bell rang and he would sit in the very back of the room. He would also be the first to leave after the class was over.

One day, Brother Christianson asked Steve to stay after class so he could talk with him. After class, Bro. Christianson pulled Steve aside and said, "You think you're pretty tough, don't you?"

Steve's answer was, "Yeah, I do."

Then Brother Christianson asked, "How many push-ups can you do?"

Steve said, "I do about 200 every night."

"200? That's pretty good, Steve," Brother Christianson said. "Do you think you could do 300?"

Steve replied, "I don't know... I've never done 300 at a time."

"Do you think you could?" asked Brother Christianson again.

"Well, I can try," said Steve.

"Can you do 300 in sets of 10? I need you to do 300 in sets of ten for this to work. Can you do it? I need you to tell me you can do it," Brother Christianson said.

Steve said, "Well... I think I can... yeah, I can do it."

Brother Christianson said, "Good! I need you to do this on Friday."

Friday came and Steve got to class early and sat in the front of the room.

When class started, Brother Christianson pulled out a big box of donuts. Now these weren't the normal kinds of donuts, they were the extra fancy BIG kind, with cream centers and frosting swirls. Everyone was pretty excited-it was Friday, the last class of the day, and they were going to get an early start on the weekend.

Bro. Christianson went to the first girl in the first row and asked,

"Cynthia, do you want a donut?"

Cynthia said, "Yes."

Bro. Christianson then turned to Steve and asked, "Steve, would you do ten push-ups so that Cynthia can have a donut?"

Steve said, "Sure," and jumped down from his desk to do a quick ten. Then Steve again sat in his desk. Bro. Christianson put a donut on Cynthia's desk.

Bro. Christianson then went to Joe, the next person, and asked, "Joe do you want a donut?"

Joe said, "Yes."

Bro. Christianson asked, "Steve would you do ten push-ups so Joe can have a donut?"

Steve did ten push-ups; Joe got a donut.

And so it went, down the first aisle, Steve did ten pushups for every person before they got their donut. And down the second aisle, till Bro. Christianson came to Scott.

Scott was captain of the football team and center of the basketball team. He was very popular and never lacking for female companionship. When Bro. Christianson asked, "Scott do you want a donut?" Scott's reply was, "Well, can I do my own pushups?"

Bro. Christianson said, "No, Steve has to do them."

Then Scott said, "Well, I don't want one then."

Bro. Christianson then turned to Steve and asked, "Steve, would you do ten pushups so Scott can have a donut he doesn't want?"

Steve started to do ten pushups.

Scott said, "HEY! I said I didn't want one!"

Bro. Christianson said, "Look, this is my classroom, my class, my desks, and my donuts. Just leave it on the desk if you don't want it." And he put a donut on Scott's desk.

Now by this time, Steve had begun to slow down a little. He just stayed on the floor between sets because it took too much effort to be getting up and down. You could start to see a little perspiration coming out around his brow. Bro. Christianson started down the third row. Now the students were beginning to get a little angry.

Bro. Christianson asked Jenny, "Jenny, do you want a donut?"

Jenny said, "No."

Then Bro. Christianson asked Steve, "Steve, would you do ten pushups so Jenny can have a donut that she doesn't want?"

Steve did ten; Jenny got a donut.

By now, the students were beginning to say "No" and there were all these uneaten donuts on the desks. Steve was also having to really put forth a lot of effort to get these pushups done for each donut. There began to be a small pool of sweat on the floor beneath his face, his arms and brow were beginning to get red because of the physical effort involved.

Bro. Christianson asked Robert to watch Steve to make sure he did ten pushups in a set because he couldn't bear to watch all of Steve's work for all of those uneaten donuts. So Robert began to watch Steve closely.

Bro. Christianson started down the fourth row. During his class, however, some students had wandered in and sat along the heaters along the sides of the room. When Bro. Christianson realized this; he did a quick count and saw 34 students in the room. He started to worry if Steve would be able to make it.

Bro. Christianson went on to the next person and the next and the next. Near the end of that row, Steve was really having a rough time. He was taking a lot more time to complete each set.

Steve asked Bro. Christianson, "Do I have to make my nose touch on each one?"

Bro. Christianson thought for a moment, "Well, they're your pushups. You can do them any way that you want." And Bro. Christianson went on.

A few moments later, Jason came to the room and was about to come in when all the students yelled, "NO! Don't come in! Stay out!"

Jason didn't know what was going on. Steve picked up his head and said, "No, let him come."

Bro. Christianson said, "You realize that if Jason comes in you will have to do ten pushups for him."

Steve said, "Yes, let him come in."

Bro. Christianson said, "Okay, I'll let you get Jason's out of the way right now. Jason, do you want a donut?"

"Yes."

"Steve, will you do ten pushups so that Jason can have a donut?"

Steve did ten pushups very slowly and with great effort. Jason, bewildered, was handed a donut and sat down.

Bro. Christianson finished the fourth row, then started on those seated on the heaters. Steve's arms were now shaking with each pushup in a struggle to lift himself against the force of gravity. Sweat was dropping off of his face and, by this time, there was not a dry eye in the room.

The very last two girls in the room were cheerleaders and very popular. Bro. Christianson went to Linda, the second to last, and asked, "Linda, do you want a doughnut?

Linda said, very sadly, "No, thank you."

Bro. Christianson asked Steve, "Steve, would you do ten pushups so that Linda can have a donut she doesn't want?"

Grunting from the effort, Steve did ten very slow pushups for Linda.

Then Bro. Christianson turned to the last girl, Susan. "Susan, do you want a donut?"

Susan, with tears flowing down her face, asked, "Bro. Christianson , can I help him?"

Bro. Christianson, with tears of his own, said, "No, he has to do it alone. Steve, would you do ten pushups so Susan can have a donut?"

As Steve very slowly finished his last pushup, with the understanding that he had accomplished all that was required of him, having done 350 pushups, his arms buckled beneath him, and he fell to the floor.

Brother Christianson turned to the room and said. "And so it was, that our Savior, Jesus Christ, plead to the Father, "Into thy hands I commend my Spirit." With the understanding that He had done everything that was required of Him, he collapsed on the cross and died. And like some of those in this room, many of us leave the gift on the desk, uneaten."

LOL, Sarah.

Destitute Discourse.

Photographer: Phillip Le. (:
There's one of the sky that I like x]: not good but still!

---
The air was crisp and fresh as the wind cooed softly, melodiously swirling the loose hairs from my head in motion with its murmurs. Faint steps were carried with the wind as we plodded our way down the wooden deck; it stretched out into the black waters, which lapped against the pillars in utmost harmony, and radiated with reflected the pastel lights of the scene above it. Boats heaved to and fro in sync with each other, and their lights bounced off the waters like swarms of variously coloured fireflies at twilight hour.

We'd settled down at a comfortable spot near the end of the pier, and bubbles of conversation burst from various corners of the odd circle we'd placed ourselves in. I inhaled slowly, and exhaled again as I refrained from conversation... the two beside me had their focus turned elsewhere anyway. I listened to the wood creak slightly as I eased myself onto the deck, and I opened my eyes to the blanket of sky in the middle of the night.

The stars were as scattered as I'd felt; they were shrouded by a lumpy mist that stretched across the sky, much like the texture of an untouched desert, where shallow crevices paralleled each other over dunes of parched sands. The stars were the tiny diamonds of the barren plains of the sky. They glimmered ever so elegantly... it instantaneously reminded me of a rare quote I'd found in a friend's going away autography book: good friends are like stars. You can't always see them, but they're always there...

I felt your presence beside me as I listened to the soft swishing of the water beneath me, imagining its pathways, encircling the pillars which drank from a neverending source of salty replenishment. The wooden deck ached until you spread yourself evenly between the planks, exhaling softly as you rested your head on the wood. Your camera fell and rose on your chest to your momentous breathing, until you lifted it daintily to your face, pointing its lens to the starry night.

"I'm too tired to talk..." I strained my voice in the most sincerest hope that you wouldn't take it the wrong way... that I was far too emotionally and physically drained to make some decent conversation with you, despite my obvious longing to. You said nothing, and continued to take pictures of the cloudy night.

Even then, I'd started a conversation. I'd wanted to talk, despite my empty barrel, once filled with so many words at the beginning of the week... I'm empty, and yet I still let droplets of phrases escape my lips.

LOL, Sarah.
Been a while since I posted something like this.. a story. (:

PS: I still miss you interstaters dearly... RCV from Adelaide... A from Perth...

Bereavement Of Speculation.

I always need a little bit of what could kill me.
That is, water.

---
I ventured out into the world on my own; the glints of light reflective of the sun upon the ocean surface stung at my eyes as waves curdled and the soft winds caused ripples in the water. I squinted as I examined the vast blue that was beyond me, saving my eyes from the acute particles that threatened to embed as crystals into my foggy eyes.

Waddle, waddle... I struggled to maintain momentum as I found myself wading through thick dunes of sand, which, magnified by the sun, reflected immense heat which stung and burned at my feet. I hopped and dwardled along, desiring so much simply to feel the rush of cool water lapping against my stubby legs.

But the shore was so far away, and clouds began to muster up their heaviest sighs. They grumbled in chagrin, and overthrew the sun's eminence with their own howling billows. Drizzles turned into rain, and whistles turned into whips as the storm began its melancholic dance.

I am too slow.

There were dangerous times ahead, and it was only reasonable to retreat. Within this shell, where everything within is so intensely personal, and can only be seen by a single person, every secret hidden in every crease and crack, shadowed by the distant light of the outside world.

I am secure here. I am safe from the pelting rain over my shelter, the icy cubes that knocked on my roof. From the slice-and-dice play of the wind and sand duet, I can recollect my thoughts and abandon my journey until it is clear.

But I am lonely.

Sheltered in a shell, and moving so dreadfully slow that as I climb, I feel like I'm falling rather than hiking.

I am owning the characteristics of a turtle.

---
Dreadfully sick, it's horrid. Handkerchiefs are so stupid.

LOL, Sarah.
And Amy, the the lyrics are the video's song!

Staggering Denouement.

This is officially the 199th posted blog. It feels good. I love the awkward feel of borderlining 200, but not counting that number as important. (;

I think I'm the only one who's read all of my blogs so far. Cool stuff!

... And my blog tells me I have 205 posts. It's so unreliable -.-"

Anyway. Hello.

---
"One, two, three, four..."

I mumbled numbers under my breath as I counted each crevasse and bump whilst running my fingers over the rough surface. From time to time, my fingers would dip into a crack, and follow the wooden trench along as it arched along the awkwardly shaped dome. The natural carvings within the wood were covered in sharp needles of bark, attempting to graze and splinter at the tips of my fingers, but my index dodged the traps as it continued to glide over the stump, and I continued to count the rings; the memories that the tree once had.

It once stood so tall, so majestic and strong. No one would have thought it would falter; it could not be swayed, nor could it move from its place. The tree stood with the deepest of roots and the strongest of foundations. Its branches were lavished with brilliant, deep greens, its leaves bursting with life and animation as they rustled in the gentle cradle of the wind. Bright, vivacious colour livened the branches further as plumps of red fruit extended from the smaller branches, dangling in the face of danger at the tree's subtle swings from side to side.

The tree was fruitful, bursting with life, and remained so strong, that even when gusts whipped and sliced at its trunk, it would stand its ground, its leaves fluttering about and its fruit following suit. There was nothing that could move this tree.

So what happened? It wouldn't be swayed, it wouldn't falter, but there is nothing left but a stump. Its deepest roots and most steadfast of foundations have lost its purpose, and the strong, majestic trunk, followed by its delightful branches once filled with life have now disappeared. No one could any longer boast of this mighty tree, because it was gone. It didn't even stand a chance against the jagged teeth of man's new best friend: technology.

The powers of nature and environment may not have swayed us for all this time, and for sure, I was convinced that we would hold for years to come. But who could foresee the cruel death of this tree by the hands of man?

... And of all hands, yours?

---
Did you know that...
The term web was coined because the internet is like a spider's web, all intertwined and connected?
And blogging was coined because of the nature of logging your account onto the web - thus web logging?

Oh, the fascinations of the simple things. :)

LOL, Sarah.
Please click on the picture, it oozes of majesty.

Chocolate Intervention.

Is it habit that I don't post on the first of each month anymore? o.O

For now, I just feel... fine.

So, I'm sorry that things aren't working out. I just don't think I can handle another best friend, not after last time.

---
So badly, I want to be exposed. Like a chocolate fountain, thick with rich yet secretive ingredients, and yet poured out for the world to see and savour. Yet no one will ever know just how delicate this chocolate is until they take a strawberry and dip it in. Even so, the strawberry distills the taste. It hides away the true identity of its companion.

Or perhaps my fountain is lackluster... dull. Chocolate never shone brightly, nor sparkled as it dripped so smoothly from platform to platform. It would not be able to provide with delightful entertainment that water fountains may, nor could it rush like a violent stream down the sides of the fondue.

So yes, it was lackluster. Perhaps uninteresting... but it maintained some kind of mysteriousness, by which no one knew whether it was too chocolatey, sugary, or too plain as it looked. And even so, it would still dazzle me.

I cower at anyone who dares to try and discover my taste. Their sudden authority to tip me out and leave me to clog the drain... It scares me deeply, because I don't want to give up. Not just yet. I may be in the drain, but I resist being washed away by the streams of water trembling down...

---
Even so, maybe I want to share.

To enjoy the honey that trickled towards the surface of my lips, and the warm ooze of banana as it melted in my mouth. The fluffy blanket of freshly heated batter tore so easily as I passed the knife through it, and cream dribbled delicately from its soft crevasses. As I placed the treat into my mouth, my heart almost swooned at the rich, creamy texture of the crepe. With haste, I scooped a small amount of ice-cream and dipped the spoon into my mouth, its chilly sensation tingled at the tip of my tongue as the textures enveloped in the cages of my teeth.

This sweet, sober moment was to be savoured...

---
But never alone. I wish it was never.

LOL, Sarah.

A Tremour Of Sentiment.

The long awaited. The highly anticipated. The new exhilaration following this heart-felt warming sensation.

---
Trying to slow the motions of time down.

Afraid to close my eyes, because my dreams will steal away what I could so willfully use.

Conscious of communications, in case I get carried off into a world that dismisses the thoughts of time.

Reluctant to move an inch, knowing that every contraction, every reflex, every tension, steals a moment that can never be taken back.

I could stare at the clock, watching as the repetitious arrows encircle its centre, inevitably winding closer to my deadline meet.

So scared to have an inkling of fun... because they say that time flies when you're having fun. Motionless, I would stare at the clock. It's fairly relaxing; I like relaxing... It's fun.

But there's an impossible loophole to my theory of slowing down time. The definite strokes of the clocks are undeniable; unstoppable. I'm in a losing battle...

---
Have you ever noticed?
How the soft rumbles of your heart can only be heard at a standstill; in an almost-silence occasion where we do nothing but halt our fidgeting bodies.

I can't help but think about the murmuring of our hearts; how they echo through the halls of our arteries; its steady beating bringing a soft momentum the subtlest of reverberations throughout our bodies. How, as we lie in darkness, listening to the sounds of the clock ticking ever so nonchalantly; the winds cooing as they return with the life of wings- creatures of the sky huddling within their nests, protecting their newborns - the cooling hum of the refrigerator in its dutiful maintenance of keep; the soft snores from neighbouring rooms, or from outside, where a single dog nestles in the comfort of his own house...

... That our fingers softly, unconsciously drum on the sheets, our toes twitch at the slightest just under the doona, and that each hair on our head rustles softly as it finds a new place to settle. As we are at a standstill, our heart beats at its loudest, still working strenuously and tirelessly to keep us alive, even as we sleep.

And once more, our hearts thud in our ears after an adrenaline rush. Amidst the journey, we can only focus on the destination at hand, but we fall across the finish line, exasperated, and all we can hear is the sound of our heart, still working, so earnestly and diligently to relax our aching bodies. Only once we've stopped ourselves can we hear the sacred sound of a heart so worn, so exhausted, and yet in our tribulation, our hearts beat at their loudest to let us know that we're still alive.

They haven't given up on us just yet.

LOL, Sarah.

Maladroit Gesticulation.

I want to fast forward to the future. Forget all the plans that we have now, and get to the ceremonial ends. Who says the journey is all that matters? I don't want it, not anymore...

---
It's an awkward feeling.

The sun shimmering off my pale skin, warming me to the core. I could relax in the wonder of its warmth as it hangs in the sky, reaching its rays around me like a warm hug. With the same hands, it rolls back the curtain of clouds, leaving a spotless blue sky with just the atmosphere to magnify the sun's allure.

But the sheer winds disconcert me and discomfort me, cutting with its cold, invisible touch and sending shivers throughout my body. I'm inexplicably confused by this juxtaposition of the sun, how it gently draws me near and lures me into the indulgence of its rays, whilst the harsh billowing of the winds, which cut at my skin so insincerely and so relentlessly, alter my body's longing to relax. It almost sways me towards rejecting the warmth of the sun, despite the security I found in its embrace.

I wonder weather... I should stay outside and embrace these trying times, where the environment that surrounds me is as natural as a sinful earth can be, otherwise return to a safe-haven where I am caught by the man-made, the unnaturally warm, and the eternally deficit.

... Like my electric blanket.

---
Whenever I look at you, I can't help but to not be able to recognise who you are anymore. I'm unsure, but I can't seem to hear your voice as one whose is familiar, nor can I understand any of your actions. It's as if I don't know you anymore, and I simply don't know why.

---
I feel like a water balloon, filled time and time again with water, so much so that I cannot bear to withhold anymore. I am on the verge of breaking, but I have been suppressed at just the right time so that I can be tied. However, I am so afraid of breaking; so scared that one motion of just a tiny bit of too much force, explosions like water balloons would drench the dim concrete.

I don't want to push this, but I will savour this moment of such a profound satisfaction. After all, I've been stretched, and I'm pushing at my limits, but am I not so full?

...

I feel somewhat exhilarated; unnaturally, a sudden euphoria envelops me at this moment, and it is most certainly unshakable. An abrupt overflow of peace settles me, despite...

---
Yes. Blame my mood swings again, but it cannot stop this peace... at least not for now. Thank God that He answers prayers.

I'm so sorry for the extremely emotive blogs; inconsiderate of me to even think that anyone would be interested in the intensely personal aspects of my life. Sorry, and I hope you'll still read... to you few readers out there!

Each image I post up not only heavily corresponds to my post, but also, each has a link to its original whereabouts. I have been using many photos from deviantArt lately, so support the artists, and check out their works! :)

LOL, Sarah.
This post is proudly dedicated to anh Jon Tran. Ain't he "wheaty"?

Silver Rain Fell.

I am utterly scattered.

---
He just walked onwards, without even a single glance back. How she cried in agony as she was left on the sidewalk, battered, bruised, and torn.

I muttered incoherently, words that I didn't even understand myself. The rain pelted down, hard on my vitiated body, refreshing the pain of my bruises... but these abrasions did not even grasp my notice.

He had ripped out her only heart, along with all sense of logic and reasoning. She lost herself when she lost him.

I felt my heart cave in- no, the remnance of the walls that I'd put up to protect it- began to cave in to the void where my heart once was. Suddenly I could no longer hear the plummeting of rain that had once ago pierced my ears so heavily, nor could I feel the sting of hail as it sliced at my skin. I felt my chest burning, the fire consuming the entirety of every organ within my ribcage. I pulled myself tighter, tighter, and I could feel my ribcage cracking under the pressure, but against this internal fire, it was nothing.

I drew my knees towards my chin, tightening my grip around my legs. I lay there, petrified, unable to move as the rain washed the tears from my eyes.

---
Who knows how long I was lying there before you found me.

I was frozen. My muscles refused to even twitch, even as your warm arms wrapped around me and you pulled me close to your chest. I felt your hastened heart; urgency resonated through its beats as you dashed through the storm. Comparing my own breath to your heartbeat, I realised how short of breath I was; my lungs seemed to be filled with ice, and I could not breathe. I quivered in your arms, and you only held me tighter as you quickened your step, and finally lay me by the fireplace.

I shuddered uncontrollably as I thawed against the fire. I could not move my body at all, but as I began to recover my breath, I suddenly felt the consquences of pressuring my ribcage. Each time I inhaled, a sharp pain was shot at my lungs, and I almost whimpered in agony.

Your voice soothed me, trying to calm me down as you combed through my saturated hair. You tried to quiet me as I cringed, trying to sound out a sensical sentence.

"I'm numb, daddy. I'm numb and I'm empty." I whispered so softly, so painfully.

"I'm still here. I'll always be here..."

But he isn't, and neither is anyone else...

---
How dare you take your friends for granted. Shame.

My perspective has been mangled. I cannot see clearly.

Read this, and criticise me, but you're the one who doesn't realise that relationships are more than just boyfriends and girlfriends, but were friends too.

LOL, Sarah.
I pray that this will be that last most negatively emotive blog I will write. If only I could promise it.

Like A Child; Abundance.

There is nothing more fulfilling to me than praising my Lord God, by which His love abounds in us so abundantly and exceedingly.

As promised to Amy Nhan, to which I would once again begin my blogging extravaganza. I have no clue as to the meaning of what I wrote just then.


---
Despicable. Only two posts an entire month? ONLY TWO?! Horrific. Unbelievable. Disappointing. FAIL.

Hello world, this is me. Life should be fun for everyone. - Saddle Club fun!

---
I am like a child on a journey towards an unknown destination walking hand in hand with You. Young, curious, and vulnerable.

"Look ahead! Focus!" your stern voice echoed in my mind, but I indignantly ignored it as I continued to appraise the silken texture of a single, lone-standing rose. Its brilliant vermilion petals, arced so delicately as the flower proceeded in full bloom perplexed me, each petal carved to perfection in overlapping the other, concealing a hidden secret under its layers. I longed to study the satin-feel of the petals between my fingers; its deep, rich red contrast to my pale skin. I stretched my arm towards the flower, and its body brushed against my skin as the wind aptly pushed against its anatomy. The velvet-like texture tingled against the pores of my skin, giving me a warm, pleasing sensation; a simple touch made my heart flutter in curiosity and wonder. I smiled, and lean closer so that I was within reach of lifting the rose from its roots, where fertile soil surrounded the base of the flower.

Suddenly, as I was about to close my hand around the stalk of the rose, my entire body was jerked and lifted from the ground. Your grip on my other hand was gentle, but firm, and I stumbled into your side as you pulled me away from the flower. I squirmed around in protest, straining for freedom from your grasp, though I knew that despite my best efforts, it was pointless, for your grip on my hand was firm and unwavering. I turned towards you in frustration, and frowned as I met your eyes; glaring, I sought for reasoning behind your restrictions on my behaviour. I quivered suddenly as a tinge of guilt zapped throughout my body; your expression was stressed and tired, your lips pursed, and the corners of your mouth only slightly upturned in attempt to convey your patience for me. The pools of chocolate brown surrounded by milky white conveyed such a love as I glared at you; I looked away in guilt, irritated at your love for me.

You heaved a large sigh, and placed your free hand on my head. I flinched slightly, but soon relaxed as you continued to comb my frazzled hair into place, and loosened your grip on my hand. In a soft, tired voice, you murmured, "Be careful", and turned towards our destination. You began walking, and I realised that you'd given me the chance of freedom. I almost yelped for joy before turning back towards the rose. I knelt down beside it, and impetuously wrapped my hands around it in an attempt to pull it out of the ground. I didn't notice the hidden blades of thorns that lined against the stem of the flower until I felt sharp pains instantly whizzed through my arm from my hand. I w immediately withdrew my hand from the rose, and examined numerous spots of exposed skin, where blood began to dribble. The flower was uprooted, and lay next to me; I took no notice of it, as the ache in my hand began to increase, and a pool of blood made its way into the palm of my hand.

I couldn't comprehend it. My eyes began to water, and I subconsciously retreated my posture into a hunched ball, all the while holding my hand in pain. I couldn't control my sudden downcast emotion, and I hid my head in embarrassment and humility. I didn't want you to see me like this, because I knew you'd be disappointed in me. I began to sob; soon I couldn't control myself at all as the pain grew and tears began to overflow.

A rush of wind blew against my hair, and I was suddenly scooped from the ground, and deep into your chest, where your arms barricaded me protectively. You took my damaged hand and wrapped it firmly in a silken, stark white cloth, and with another, you wiped the tears from my eyes. You began to walk forwards, carrying me in your steadfast arms, but I squirmed in your embrace as I looked back at the single rose left on the pathway. You noticed my urging for the flower, but you resumed walking, and, in a comforting voice, once again said, "Look ahead".

As we turned at the corner of the street, you revealed to me a vast array of flowers, ranging from brilliant red roses to the softest lilac orchids, arranged in a beautiful garden. The scene was breathtaking, and I was overwhelmed with such wonder, joy, and amazement.

With a smile in your voice, you whispered into my ear, "We're here, my child".

---
What you have for me is so much more.

Isn't this exciting? This is part of the 'Like A Child' Series. :)

LOL, Sarah.

Inquisitive Eyes.

It's not that you're at all special to me, because you're not. It's that to me, you're just special.

As Amy's currently feeling, as am I. I no longer feel such a need to blog anymore >_< even as much as I would like, it's just not so important to me as it was, probably last week. It was probably keeping me sane last week, because of - you know, Hillsong...

Dear Jesus, I'm so weak.

Haha. Anywho, I'm out of ideas, like a parched desert where a camel lumbers through, desperately thirsty for even a drop from an oasis. All there is are mirages, things that look existent, but alas! They just disappear as soon as you near them; they are but fake in this hot, dry land, where the sun's rays singe you with its heat, and beady drops of sweat pour out from your pores as you melt into the saddle, moulding into its curved shape. The camel doesn't help either. It simply fuses its own warmth with your own, and its fur is infested with fleas, mites, lice and the like, all the more annoying you, but you can't move, because movement causes friction, and what does friction cause? Ha, heat. I didn't even let you answer there, reader. (:

However, I do have a short excerpt that does NOT make any sense at all... it just sounds cool and profound, because you know, cryptic writing always has its ways. God, I love the cryptic mind you gave me. What annoys me is that I don't know how to decipher my own codes. =="

---
I wanted to break him free, to set him out of this prison. I wanted to tear open the door, and knock boundless the chains that he bears. I wanted to raise him from the ocean trenches* that I'd drowned him in. His strength was long gone, and rodents gnarled at his toes as he struggled to even lift a finger. His eyes flickered in subtle desperation; what was left of his light shone through the faintest slits in his eyes deepset in his stark white face. He was absolutely covered in grease and grime; he was dirty, weighed down, and trapped.

He was in my prison. My prison of selfish love and desire that he only be with me. I wanted him to be forever mine, forever in my arms, forever gazing into my eyes. I wanted to be his only source of joy, but now he faces despair and grief. I wanted him to feel free how I did whenever I saw him, but now he's burdened with a weight that he can't even stand to bear. I wanted to show him I loved him, but instead he lies struggling to breathe; suffocating at the vines so tightly intertwined around him as I longed to hold him in my arms. My wicked heart tortured him as it pleased, and now he lay flat on the ground, tortured, beaten, hopeless, and in the palm of my hand.

But now, I'm letting my love go. I'm shattering the chains of my insecurity, and lifting up his burden of my selfish needs. I'm beating away the rodents, and I'm tearing my veins of tenacious physical touch, and I'm breaking down the walls of my prison. I'm bathing him in a river, and bringing colour back into his broken body. And finally, as I he stands on the pile of rubble that was once my love, my self love, and my selfish love, I will ignite his burnt out candle, and fan into flame his fire once again, and he will leave.

My love goes free.

---
Well, I suppose it does have some sort of relevance... in some sort of unrealistically farfetched manner. On a lighter, perhaps more pleasant note, WE FOUND FORMAL DRESSES (that is, Kathy and I)! And they are by far some of the prettiest we've seen :) AND I GOT AN ORANGE UKULELE! AWESOME! I'm going to have so much fun with it (:

POINT TO PONDER: Would a deaf person be able to taste or feel the crunchiness of food (think about this the next time you eat a dorito chip!) My brother and I were talking about it in the car, and I couldn't come up with an answer, because you may notice as you're eating your dorito chip that you actually hear a lot of the crunchiness of the chip, other than feeling how crunchy it is in your mouth. So yeah, think about it. (;

Anywhos, I suppose I should be off. It's about now that is my sleeping time (1:57am, I have 16 hour days, and 8 hours sleep... usually. I napped for a bit when I got home today because I was so tired though. Hopefully I can wake up at 9-10!).

Toodle-doos!

LOL, Sarah.

*Don't you just love it when they use the title of the movie in a script? Well, I just used the URL for my blog in my story. AWESOME!

Craving Detest.

Does the picture remind you of anything?

Time to talk about my dream (forgive me, for this is a rather bland blog).

I slept uncomfortably that night, and I woke up with an overwhelming sadness that I simply could not comprehend... I also slept in later than 10AM for the first time since the start of the holidays. It instigated nostalgia, where memories of past dreams and realities that I knew came back to me, and well, it's hard to distinguish between the two now.

---
Twinkles of tiny lights shone down on me, and the moon smiled as I rested myself on a soft bed of grass, gazing at the orange haze that rimmed the atmosphere. Cool, crisp grass brushed against my skin, tickling the tiny hairs on the back of my neck as I settled. I turned to my right, and he was there- that is, the one I would call my closest guy friend, or my best friend, rather. And upon turning to my left, I found myself staring at you, the one I awed and admired so much; you were truly an amazing person. I was confused as to why you were there, but I settled for that fact, for I knew I wouldn't rather lying beside anyone else this pair.

I gazed at his sleeping figure for a moment, chuckling slightly at the alterations of our original plans to stargaze together, and turned back to the sparkling sky. My arms lay at my sides, caressing the soft grass, running my hands over as its stems bounced to and fro, and swayed as the wind softly whistled through my ears. The night was beautiful, and at first, I didn't notice the rustle of grass as you moved closer to me (we were lying about 30cm apart from each other, for personal comfort purposes), reaching your hand out towards me. It wasn't until you touched my hand, skimming yours over my fingers, clasping so gently and drawing my hand it closer to your warm body that I'd suddenly realised the limited proximity now between you and me. My body temperature soared; my face was flushed with an overwhelming heat, so hot that I could feel the cool winds biting against my burning skin. Your hand remained unclenched against my fingers, and only lightly bordered my cold hands with your soft, warm fingers, stroking my shaking skin with your thumb. My eyes widened in shock, and my breath was cut short. I turned my eyes towards you in horror, but you seemed to be sound asleep, aside from the uncanny smile spread across your face. I turned towards the night sky again, and I carefully slipped my hand out of yours, placing it behind me as I sat myself up to control my ventilation. My mind dazed to and fro, calculating and miscalculating the reasons for your actions, confusing me immensely.

I soon gave up, and I returned to lie beside you again, though I ensured to face towards him instead, curling into a fetal position that seemed comfortable enough atop the bed of grass (thankfully I had a pillow with me), and I pulled the blanket we shared over my head to shield myself from the cold. I sighed in scarce worry, and I whispered in his ear about what I faced, hoping he would give me some advice as to what I should do next, but he just laughed at me. I returned to my former spot, humiliated, and I buried my face into my pillow. The grass crunched as you drew closer to me once again, slipping your hand over my waist and resting it there. I began to burn up again, and a tear splintered into my eye as I struggled to keep level-headed. I stared at him as your body moulded against mine, and my mind began to overflow with curses as I squeezed my eyes shut in detest. I didn't want this, and I thought the fight to control this craving was over; my urges were faint, and now your actions left my mind in an uncontrollable self-hating state.

And I woke up.

---
We aren't about to face the path of destruction, but rather, our path faces our destruction, and it is our choice to what we choose to destroy, whether it be our own lives, our family, our friends, and everything that surrounds us... or we can destroy our sins, our griefs, our walls and our demons.

I thought about that in the shower :]

LOL, Sarah.

Mute.

I'm surprised to say that at this very moment in time... I have nothing to say.

That is, nothing but possibly a few nonsensical lines to the reader, and a probably irrelevant context story to which I struggled in putting pen to paper (the action itself is simple, but it's a... cliche? Pun? Who knows).

Well, it's a sudden writer's block, probably instigated by ______.

Stick with me, while I pull through this, yeah?

---
I'm readying myself for one of the harder weeks I have to endure once again, similarly to about the same time last year.

I waved good bye as you began to leave, taking your suitcases and rolling them along with you as you entered the doors of the Airport terminals. I could not find my voice as I mouthed how dearly I held you to my heart, and I instead cringed as my heart skipped another beat, forcing blood to my brain and sending me into another minor attack. I knew this would be a struggle, knowing that your presence would no longer be a mere 5 minutes away, but I fought the pain down and stared out the rain drenched window as I was driven away.

Thunders rolled above the car and the windows began to fog as I was driven into the cold, dark night, and I instinctively turned on the heater. Despite the heater's warmth immediately calming the nerves on my skin, the cold pinched deep into my heart as I inhaled fairly excessively and irregularly. Who knew I would miss you this much already?

I drew countless smiley faces along the fogged up window; droplets streamed past the sudden clarity of my imprints in the fog, and slowly disappeared as the fog reclaimed the glass. As I painted swirls into the recovering fog, I thought of what's happened the past two and a half weeks, and where it had gotten me now...

What's happening now? Well... this:

I'm suffocating in the four walls of my own heart as it sinks deeper into my stomach and drowns in my own bodily fluids.

How did you find play into this? You reminded me of who I was and what I am capable of. You logically tried to help me sort through the mess that I was, and even when I couldn't get to you, you got to me.

And now... I have to face it myself.

---
The tap was so rustic, and so impossible for me to twist open. With all my might, I grasped at it...

And when I finally opened it, the water wouldn't stop running.

---
If you look too deeply into a mirror, you won't be able to escape.

Golly, I'm so good at hiding... but you almost found me out anyway.

LOL, Sarah.

"Keep your head up high, darling, for you'll be home soon."

Starry Eyed Pleas.

So much for the first line of the first entry of June.

My first thoughts, as well as my original idea began with the contemplating of scenery and the natural landscape that surrounded me as we trekked our way around the place. The beauty of nature was that it was perfect until man touched it, and the array of alterations created by man left it with dints and bruises that we now call our beautiful homes. The artificial, so bright and eccentric against such natural, simple works of art, by God and by man.

Surprisingly, I've learnt a few things over the years at primary school excursions, exhibitions, incursions, and even in school. Though there is this one thing I remember in particular when I visited the Melbourne Planetarium that still strikes me today.

The seats in the auditorium were large, soft and rather comfortable, and I decided that they were better than the average cinema seats as I snugged myself deep into the chair. I gazed around as my friends plopped themselves beside me, who instantly admiring the comfort of their chairs as I had. The room was quite large, and had a fairly spacious, black ceiling, whilst the chairs were all in an arched formation in accordance to the circular room. As I began to relax, I suddenly felt the back of my chair begin to depress slowly, and in my surprise, I immediately grasped the arms of my chair, and accidentally found the hand of one of my friends as he did too. I chuckled to myself slightly, before quickly releasing, and indulging in the chair's slow movement, which reminded me of the dentist's, where they threatened to cause you to slide off the chair if you didn't comply to their orders. Luckily, the managers of the planetarium were nice today.

The ceiling suddenly buzzed to life, and numerous images and graphics flicked past my eyes as I stared at the colourfully depicted night, which brimmed with bright shining stars against a blanket of black. A voice-over began to explain these images, and various animations complimented the dark setting, though the voice slowly became a drone, and the graphics slowly moulded into a blurry sea of colours which I could no longer distinguish details, and I eventually nodded off to sleep.

I suddenly jumped awake as my friend who I'd accidentally held hands with nudged me to wake me up, and I was struck by an amazing view of the night sky, filled with stars, which was rimmed with a warm purple and orange fade into the walls of the building. The voice explained the purpose of the animation, and I found this was the normal view of a typical 8PM Melbourne night, including all electrically powered lights, signs and the like. This isn't what fazed me, so much as the next part had. The 8PM sky dimmed to blackness, with a thousand more sparkles appearing in the pitch black. This would be the typical 8PM night had there been no gas emissions, no electrical power or lighting; nothing man-made, just the natural lights of the sky, with the moon smiling down at the earth. The view was breath-taking, and vastly different from the previous scene. This picture was so much clearer compared to the foggy, dim-lit sky where the night-lights struggled to pierce their lights through the clouds. No, this picture now was beautiful, clear, natural, and completely God-made.

The voice continued to attach the stars together, and began lecturing us about constellations of which caught none of my attention as I contemplated the difference between the two scenes...

It's so amazing how much man-made material can affect God's creation. Sparkles in the midnight sky juxtaposed with foggy gas emissions and electrical power that we've taken so much pride in...have we forgotten about what's really beautiful?

---
It sparked to me (excuse the pun, hehe) the beauty of nature.. and well, with me, one thing leads to another, and I ended up reminiscing about this one novel I'd read in my early middle school years (I forgot the title.. it had something to do with colour, wind, chasing or rainbows? Something like that), and it depicted a friend who tried to explain to someone else what colour was like. This friend's generosity came from the unfortunate disadvantage that that someone was blind.

It got me thinking, can you explain colour to a blind person? Basing it on its texture, its warmth, its individualistic characteristics and emotions it symbolises, would you be able to say that the sun is like a bright yellow, softly eating your skin as you bathe in its flood of warmth? Would you be able to describe the blue ocean as its icy waters lap against your skin, tickling the very tips of your toes as you dip it into the shallow beach? And the crunchy, golden texture of the sand as you grasp a handful of damp sand in one hand, and in the other, a soft, light yellow sand which seeps through your fingers the moment you raise your hand from underneath its surface?

Sight is a beautiful thing, and my heart sinks deep into my stomach whenever I see people's reluctance to open their eyes to a beautiful world, those who aren't thankful for what they have...

Because the world is beautiful, dear. Don't blind yourself, because one day, maybe you really won't see again.

---

Two things You told me:
That You're strong, and You love me.
Yes, You love me.

Your Love Is Strong - Jon Foreman

LOL, Sarah.

Perpendicularly Skewed.

Must you haunt me with your constant fantastical reminders and contrast my dreams with my reality?

Two things happened in the past two days.

One.
I dreamt you again, and this time, I fell into your embrace (why do I always seem to fall in my dreams?), and I was instantly flooded with such a warmth. It was as if the sun shone in favour of me, its rays stretching towards me and blanketing me in safe heat, shielding me from the harsh, desolate landscape that surrounded me, where the wind howled and threatened to slice through my skin with its ice-cold touch.
You were hugging me. Your arms wrapped easily around my shoulders, and you comfortably leaned your head next to mine tucked into my shoulder. Your hold on me was tight and secure, and I instantly felt safe in your arms, your warmth dissolving into my skin, warming my cold heart. The hairs of my neck stood on end as I shivered against your body, and I found myself returning your gesture, pulling myself closer as I grasped the back of your jacket. I felt myself urging for more of your warmth; for not even a millimetre of distance between us, and I moulded myself against your physique. I buried my face under your neck, and a single tear pricked in my eye as I dreamed this was real, waking up to the warmth of my electric blanket under me.



Two.
I was weighed down with sleep this morning, and I struggled to ready myself for the upcoming day. I blundered towards the car, and I lazily made an effort to place my bag in the front seat. The door was open, and as I was about to enter, my mother released the brake pedal, causing the car to jerk suddenly as she immediately planted her foot on the pedal again. In my ineptness, my perception became skewed, and, in parallel to movement the car, I felt myself almost tumble. My arms wavered in the air for balance, before grabbing the frame of the door, and my mum stared at me as she spilled with endless 'sorry's while I gained my balance again. I wearily looked at her, confused as to why she was saying sorry. I almost fell on my own account; nothing touched me, nor nothing swayed me but only from my view of the car suddenly jerking did I almost fall.

I almost fell over literally nothing. My mum jerked the car, and I almost fell as a result of that. -___________-

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I dreamt that we were talking again. You know, I don't think I know you anymore. You've changed. You've definitely changed.

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I watched transformers today.. and golly, was it good.

LOL, Sarah.