A room.
It’s yearnings can’t be swept away with a broom.
Fuchsia walls; smelling of deodorant, dust and memory.
Bed boxes mark it’s occupant’s treasury.
Letters hidden in literature textbooks.
Worn out with stolen looks.
A rendition of Hotel California.
Food cravings and midnight phone calls.
The latter usually consists of drunken drawls.
Hopelessness and tears.
A culmination of teenage fears.
A conversation with the best friend.
Who stays till the end.
And suddenly I’m on the mend.
Happy 177th Founder’s Day La Martiniere.
Your memories get me through the hell hole.
I’ve made a rather irritating discovery in the last few days.
Falling out of love with someone is ten times more annoying than falling in love.
Everything the former object of your affections says or does makes you want to throw up.
Not to mention that dreadful realization of not being as smart as you think you are.
Apart from that I have my only real exam tomorrow, TWO classes and a presentation.
SO MUCH WORK . If every year was like fifth year, I may have even liked NALSAR a teensy bit, who knows?
And then I get to eat maangsho bhaat with my homeland peoples.
Maangsho Bhaat (Mutton Curry and Rice)
And then I’m going to sleep like a hibernating beaver.
There’s a Calvin & Hobbes for everything!
“I was half in love with her by the time we sat down. That’s the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty, even if they’re not much to look at, or even if they’re sort of stupid, you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are. Girls. Jesus Christ. They can drive you crazy. They really can.”
Perfect notwithstanding a single grammatical error.
“It was inevitable: the scent of bitter almonds always reminded him of the fate of unrequited love.”
Have you seen a more gorgeous man?
Chronicle. 