As they applaud, I'll count claps.

Drop the apple, Adam.

Did you feel that? That lukewarm feeling gradually growing in your ribs. Which in some way, tempts you to dig, dig and pull it out, just so you would be able to feel it with your bare hands. To convince yourself and everyone else that it's real and absolute.

No, I do not mean Happiness. It seems a little fuzzier than happiness. They may be interconnected, intertwined, interdependent. But they are, in others ways, quite different. Neither is it Love, for Love is a warmer feeling inside of you that is never lost, and never found. We're getting closer. Is it Excitement then? No, Excitement is very punctual and certainly very busy. It arrives at the right moment, and leaves when the moment passes by. Never staying to grow at such leisure pace inside you.

That glow inside of you that cultivates from the bond you form and share in such unique friendships. It starts with a spark, helped by intuition, when you first meet your destined friend. And it grows into something much bigger. Bigger than both you and me. I suppose it's called Closeness.

Or somewhere along those lines.

For some other reason.

Language allows us to reach out to people, to touch them with out innermost fears, hopes, disappointments, victories. To reach out to people we'll never meet. It's the greatest legacy you could ever leave: The history of how you felt.

-Simon Van Booy

You sunk my battleship.

I will forever and always be a kid of the 90s.

Murder she wrote.

There's an attribute, you may say, or characteristic of hers that triggers an unconscious desire to seek approval from her. I, am no less a victim, no, a fool to her wiles. Now, I seek liberation.

But, contrary to my expectations,

The devotion to sensual savors;

"His pace was unhurried. He had eyes for the different windows, the people out in the open, the old buildings, he did his best to remain interested. It was necessary to stay connected to the world, to rouse the senses continually or else he would fade out of existence, fail to exist, like so many times before. The point was to stay awake, no, engaged, to pick out the details so there was some feeling of control, the empirical hallucination."

I've been reading a book called "The Swing of Things" by Sean O'Reilly. Irish by the sound of it. And I so happened to bump into this paragraph on the eight page.

I'm curious now.

From the laconic to the verbose.

Let's play pretend.

Have you ever had one of those dreams, such a dream that felt so realistic, so natural, in such a way that it didn't even feel like a dream anymore?

You wouldn't even begin to realise that it was a dream in the first place. It would never occur to you, to grasp that single-handed idea that you were, in actual fact, dreaming. Being given the ability to perceive every single emotion, touch, thought so well that it feels exactly like being awake in reality. It's scary though, to wake up from such a dream, having to gradually comprehend that it was just a dream. Lying in bed, going through and remembering those distinct emotions, that specific touch and this exact feeling. The feeling of being cut, of blood flowing through your veins and running down your arms. Waking up to find your heart beating so fast that you could hardly breathe.

Yeah, it's sorta feels like shit. But kinda cool at the same time.