Realization
Last night when I was chewing a chiken leg that tasted like chocolate, I saw a man sitting on the table to my left. I could see his right eye, half of his nose, a little bit of a stubble. The sleeve of his shirt, he's folded a little, left unfolded a little. Frankly, honestly, truly, I found him appealing to the hormones. Any woman would.
His baritone voice caught me when I caught him almost scolding the waiter. Not that I encourage such rashness. But when it's somewhat crude, the attitude, one gets inclined, doesn't she? When one is bored of the sugar-sweet variety i.e..
So all this kept happening and I was chewing the legs of chocolate. Red brown, tomato brown, chocolate brown. Dreams of capturing and imprisioning Adonis and taking him home to show your friends, the catch!
On his table, whisky on the rocks. The faint golden intoxicating color of alcohol. Things he says once, he's done with. Twenty six-seven? Couldn't be less than that.
He talks business, he talks money. I talk, I giggle with my friend. Once I laugh loud enough to make him turn and look at us. Then I see his left eye and his full face. In my mind, I say, not bad. Good infact!
Then we pay up, get up & leave. I think for the man for five minutes and then my mind moves back to three days ago. To one realization, one truth, that must stand by me, for a lifetime.
What lay under a face is something I care to know nothing about. I do this being very aware that what lies under the face matters the most. Face is a facade. And I made a casual promise to me, not to get carried away by it.
What appeals to my mind, will always overrule all that appeals to the eye, to the hormones, i.e. And so be it!
His baritone voice caught me when I caught him almost scolding the waiter. Not that I encourage such rashness. But when it's somewhat crude, the attitude, one gets inclined, doesn't she? When one is bored of the sugar-sweet variety i.e..
So all this kept happening and I was chewing the legs of chocolate. Red brown, tomato brown, chocolate brown. Dreams of capturing and imprisioning Adonis and taking him home to show your friends, the catch!
On his table, whisky on the rocks. The faint golden intoxicating color of alcohol. Things he says once, he's done with. Twenty six-seven? Couldn't be less than that.
He talks business, he talks money. I talk, I giggle with my friend. Once I laugh loud enough to make him turn and look at us. Then I see his left eye and his full face. In my mind, I say, not bad. Good infact!
Then we pay up, get up & leave. I think for the man for five minutes and then my mind moves back to three days ago. To one realization, one truth, that must stand by me, for a lifetime.
What lay under a face is something I care to know nothing about. I do this being very aware that what lies under the face matters the most. Face is a facade. And I made a casual promise to me, not to get carried away by it.
What appeals to my mind, will always overrule all that appeals to the eye, to the hormones, i.e. And so be it!
askmewhyidontblogthesedays
-:lonely shadows-:
when god made her he added the chin as an ~afterthought~
...love & etc
smile
blush
romance
smile
blush
and yet again..
wisp of scent
soft music
and all senses awake
oh! i am so in love with the idea of it
blush
romance
smile
blush
and yet again..
wisp of scent
soft music
and all senses awake
oh! i am so in love with the idea of it
I often wonder which would one be given a chance, the
art or the artist? But since I have hardly had the
'chance' , this question is out of question.
Nevertheless, the artist reflects in the art. The
protagonist of the story has shades of the author.
I am told, that no matter how hard we try, what we
ultimately make is us.
When I write I get emotional with my characters. The
central character is almost always me. This I perceive
as unhealthy. It's one lacuna.
I wonder how people get dispassionate when they
write. They write like they are one neutral third
person watching things happen, from a safe distance.
They don't involve themselves in the story much. And
this I find a very likable trait.
So when I get dispassionate enough, I am gonna write,
again.
Meanwhile I am taking pictures/..
art or the artist? But since I have hardly had the
'chance' , this question is out of question.
Nevertheless, the artist reflects in the art. The
protagonist of the story has shades of the author.
I am told, that no matter how hard we try, what we
ultimately make is us.
When I write I get emotional with my characters. The
central character is almost always me. This I perceive
as unhealthy. It's one lacuna.
I wonder how people get dispassionate when they
write. They write like they are one neutral third
person watching things happen, from a safe distance.
They don't involve themselves in the story much. And
this I find a very likable trait.
So when I get dispassionate enough, I am gonna write,
again.
Meanwhile I am taking pictures/..
Meanwhile...
WARNING-LONG POST AHEAD!
I am up after an eight hour sleep. It's a sunny sunday
morning. Sleep refuses to leave me alone. But anyway
I am perched on my bed and wrting this.
The day before yesterday, late in the evening, I was
supposed to walk back alone to my room. If 9 :30 is
late in the evening, that is. When out the road I saw a
mini storm. If this is the end of autumn, all the dead
leaves from all the trees were out on a
merry-go-round. I didn't know what to do. And then
the lights went off and my heart stopped beating...but this, I guess is another story!
Off late I haven't been writing much. And that is not
that good a sign as writing is a natural vent for my
emotions. And yeah, I am not writing because I don't
have anything to write about. There is a dearth of
matter in my head. It's on mode_snooze!
But again, I have been reading. I am reading now to
catch up on the reading I missed because I started
writing.
And I am going out on walks, real long walks. Twice
round, thrice round the campus...all my evenings are
spent walking. Also on a fruit diet, to de-tox the mind!
Meanwhile I have been listening to one song a million
times over/
And I have been breaking-off with friends. But have I
been making friends also? I wonder if I believe in the
concept of friendship. Love, on the other hand, is
totally out of question. Long time since I last fell in and
out of it.
I have become a cynic. I was cynic-in-the-making for quite
some time. But it is now that I am at peace with it.
And my blog has frozen into somthing! But I am not
dead yet. I am just taking my time. My sweet-bitter
time. There is hardly anything that dictates me, these
days...
Excerpt
I turned and now looked at him in the eye. Since we
had been lying there, doing nothing that foggy
afternoon, such thoughts had been doing rounds in my
mind. And I didn't quite know if I did it with any prior
thinking, but I said, I love you. And again for a
moment we were staring at each other before he
planted a kiss and left for the terrace.
I followed him after sometime. And as I sat there
beside him, I did know that he didn't love me. And
how I wished I had not known so distinctly, so truly
that he never loved me.
Looking down from the thirteenth floor, we saw the
whole world was getting back home. Don't know about
him but at least I did. I didn't know what he was
thinking. If he was thinking about me, it hardly did
matter, because my feelings about things and people
happen to be fixed, numbly.
It was getting dark and in a few minutes, you won't
see faces on the streets at all. The mist hid everything.
So I thought I would rather be leaving. Didn't wait for
his goodbye. Just gathered myself and left.
had been lying there, doing nothing that foggy
afternoon, such thoughts had been doing rounds in my
mind. And I didn't quite know if I did it with any prior
thinking, but I said, I love you. And again for a
moment we were staring at each other before he
planted a kiss and left for the terrace.
I followed him after sometime. And as I sat there
beside him, I did know that he didn't love me. And
how I wished I had not known so distinctly, so truly
that he never loved me.
Looking down from the thirteenth floor, we saw the
whole world was getting back home. Don't know about
him but at least I did. I didn't know what he was
thinking. If he was thinking about me, it hardly did
matter, because my feelings about things and people
happen to be fixed, numbly.
It was getting dark and in a few minutes, you won't
see faces on the streets at all. The mist hid everything.
So I thought I would rather be leaving. Didn't wait for
his goodbye. Just gathered myself and left.
~the happily ever after thingy is the most cliche'd ever~
After-thought
-When I turn twenty-six I will invest in books. I am sure by then my fingers will have become tired changing hundred and fifty five TV channels that show nothing. My mind would have got tired of having written the same thing over and over again, about sorrow & pain. My eyes would have got tired of looking for companionship. So I would invest the rest of my life in books. -
half-love
sigh time passes so fast
i wish i met you before
wish i could've loved you more
one more winter of hands held
you owe me umpteen dances in the rain
and i owe you a thousand splendid smiles
but tis now we depart
half said words
having half loved each other
tis a lon' life you know
and life will outlive our memories
memories of the dew-kissed yellow chrysanthemum
memories of lon' summer afternoons
of cracks in the walls
memories of a dead youth
& even so much more
won't last me a year long
life, tis too long
memories will give way to pain
to a subtle ache that'l persist
in shy corners of my heart
once we depart, my sweetheart!
~now u, forgive my crazy poetry~
i wish i met you before
wish i could've loved you more
one more winter of hands held
you owe me umpteen dances in the rain
and i owe you a thousand splendid smiles
but tis now we depart
half said words
having half loved each other
tis a lon' life you know
and life will outlive our memories
memories of the dew-kissed yellow chrysanthemum
memories of lon' summer afternoons
of cracks in the walls
memories of a dead youth
& even so much more
won't last me a year long
life, tis too long
memories will give way to pain
to a subtle ache that'l persist
in shy corners of my heart
once we depart, my sweetheart!
~now u, forgive my crazy poetry~
aaAArrGGhhhh..!!!
XYZ:So tell us one weakness that you've known?
Ms D.:
Weakness?? Arrgghh!! I've so many...too many...i am a bundle of weaknesses/
*I've no sense of logic about anything..
*I'm umpty-dumpty emotional-To the xtent of being weak, vulnerable, i can break down just any moment~~
*I PANIC--i go nutzzz weneva nythin serious pops up
*I'm laZY(How lazy???)Aww..u've no idea..poor yuuu
*My energy levels r pathetically low! i get tired after moving, say, a matchstick!
*I've AN EXTERNAL LOCUS OF CONTROL/..Do yu knw itz a crimEE to hv 1?
*I'm simply frustrated-no explanations..i jus AM
*I m nt a good talker...i mumble such things tht screw everythin up :(
*I aint diplomatic/shrewd
*I've an inferiority complex, & think it's justified I have one
*I'm an INSTICT driven individual. So most of the times don't know where I am headed. I don't plan my future, simply bcoz planning is ouch-so-tiring
*I'm not a good leader, I'm not a good follower either. damn! what-am-i?
*I brood all the time-yeah-like for the past 2 decades i've been doin jus dat
*I can't hide, if yu understand wht i mean
* & finally, the icing on the cake
I AM THE ETERNAL PESSIMIST!!!
Ms D.:
Weakness?? Arrgghh!! I've so many...too many...i am a bundle of weaknesses/
*I've no sense of logic about anything..
*I'm umpty-dumpty emotional-To the xtent of being weak, vulnerable, i can break down just any moment~~
*I PANIC--i go nutzzz weneva nythin serious pops up
*I'm laZY(How lazy???)Aww..u've no idea..poor yuuu
*My energy levels r pathetically low! i get tired after moving, say, a matchstick!
*I've AN EXTERNAL LOCUS OF CONTROL/..Do yu knw itz a crimEE to hv 1?
*I'm simply frustrated-no explanations..i jus AM
*I m nt a good talker...i mumble such things tht screw everythin up :(
*I aint diplomatic/shrewd
*I've an inferiority complex, & think it's justified I have one
*I'm an INSTICT driven individual. So most of the times don't know where I am headed. I don't plan my future, simply bcoz planning is ouch-so-tiring
*I'm not a good leader, I'm not a good follower either. damn! what-am-i?
*I brood all the time-yeah-like for the past 2 decades i've been doin jus dat
*I can't hide, if yu understand wht i mean
* & finally, the icing on the cake
I AM THE ETERNAL PESSIMIST!!!
$@l$@-I
The lazy afternoon was surprised by a thunderstorm.
The one you are never ready for. And you are stuck in
the most mundane of places without an umbrella or
anything. I was getting back home, ealier than usual.
And the rain on my windshield felt nice.
The highway was almost deserted. But I saw someone
and screeched back. And I lowered the glass to see
her. She was drenched under her skin. A strand of wet
hair fell on her face as she bent down to say hi.
'Stranded?'
'Hmm...Yea', she smiled.
'Need a ride?' I asked and waited for her to say 'No, I'l
get a cab'.
-To be continued..?
The one you are never ready for. And you are stuck in
the most mundane of places without an umbrella or
anything. I was getting back home, ealier than usual.
And the rain on my windshield felt nice.
The highway was almost deserted. But I saw someone
and screeched back. And I lowered the glass to see
her. She was drenched under her skin. A strand of wet
hair fell on her face as she bent down to say hi.
'Stranded?'
'Hmm...Yea', she smiled.
'Need a ride?' I asked and waited for her to say 'No, I'l
get a cab'.
-To be continued..?
Another Untitled!
Guy1:
Pros : You are the first guy who became a friend,
crossing the 'just-an-acquaintance' barrier. I got to
know what it is to be emotionally attached to someone
like you. First person I call when I am messed
up!
Cons : You confuse me with thy emotions. Being
hyper-emotional is pathetic you know .
Guy2:
Pros: Cholcolates-walks-chocolates! Cool guy you are.
You are the one I talked to all night to see day-break
and then sleep through sleepy Saturdays.
Cons: I genuinely missed you when you were away.
And I hate becoming a parasite. You should've done
something about it.
Guy3:
Pros: You are the most vivacious person I ever came
across. Was smitten by some shades of the person you
are. Relishing my evenings away with you, I forgot
what I was doing to myself.
Cons: You catered to a larger audience. And I didn't
want to get lost in that absolute chaos.
Guy4:
Pros:You are one of those few guys who I respect for
who they are and not for what they are, if you get the
difference. I respect you, out & out! You have a heart
of gold.
Cons: You have a heart of gold. But so does a hard
boiled egg! You make nothing out of it. You're too
distant, too vague!
Guy5:
Pros: You-you-you! I thank God a zillion times to have
met you. You made me know myself. You taught me
love. And I learnt that my former ideas were all
hypotheses. No hard feelings now! May the force be with yu!
Cons: No cons!
Pros : You are the first guy who became a friend,
crossing the 'just-an-acquaintance' barrier. I got to
know what it is to be emotionally attached to someone
like you. First person I call when I am messed
up!
Cons : You confuse me with thy emotions. Being
hyper-emotional is pathetic you know .
Guy2:
Pros: Cholcolates-walks-chocolates! Cool guy you are.
You are the one I talked to all night to see day-break
and then sleep through sleepy Saturdays.
Cons: I genuinely missed you when you were away.
And I hate becoming a parasite. You should've done
something about it.
Guy3:
Pros: You are the most vivacious person I ever came
across. Was smitten by some shades of the person you
are. Relishing my evenings away with you, I forgot
what I was doing to myself.
Cons: You catered to a larger audience. And I didn't
want to get lost in that absolute chaos.
Guy4:
Pros:You are one of those few guys who I respect for
who they are and not for what they are, if you get the
difference. I respect you, out & out! You have a heart
of gold.
Cons: You have a heart of gold. But so does a hard
boiled egg! You make nothing out of it. You're too
distant, too vague!
Guy5:
Pros: You-you-you! I thank God a zillion times to have
met you. You made me know myself. You taught me
love. And I learnt that my former ideas were all
hypotheses. No hard feelings now! May the force be with yu!
Cons: No cons!
Yogi
I was led into a room with a balcony overlooking a jungle. 'This is Yogi's room', said she, my host. I said hello to my home for the night.
When I got up to the sun's orange rays raining through the white curtains and I opened old drawers, I found Yogi's diary.
My host, Yogi's mother, called me down for tea. We talked as she watered her plants.
I asked her about Yogi. Yogi left home six years ago, when he was nineteen. Way back then it was hard on her. But he had his reasons. Confines of home stifled him, she said. And Yogi wasn't made for college. But his father had other plans for his only child. And the child had no plans as such.
So one summer morning, he simply left, with just the clothes on his back. He called seven days later, from somewhere high up in the Himalayas. And then again a month later from somewhere else. He still does call his mother. But she doesn't try to get him back.
Back in the room I pushed the door open and I saw something I had failed to notice ealier. Yogi painted. On the canvas that hung right before me, were footprints on sand. He called it 'Guitar and barefeet'
Those words brought the man of flesh of blood infront of my eyes when I closed them. The whole night I thought of Yogi. I liked his name so much, and wasn't he a Yogi? I thought of gay abandon and kept staring at 'Guitar and barefeet'.
Those footprints must have been Yogi's, I thought. I pondered over what he looked like and whether he remembered to shave. I mulled over the broken strings of his guitar and what music he liked. There are only a few people who followed the heart.
By dawn, I was completely in love with the 'idea' of Yogi. I placed a picture of mine right beside the painting. That picture, embodied the two passions of my being- 'Seashells and poetry'. I looked at the two of them for sometime. They looked like soul-mates.And I simply left.
When I got up to the sun's orange rays raining through the white curtains and I opened old drawers, I found Yogi's diary.
My host, Yogi's mother, called me down for tea. We talked as she watered her plants.
I asked her about Yogi. Yogi left home six years ago, when he was nineteen. Way back then it was hard on her. But he had his reasons. Confines of home stifled him, she said. And Yogi wasn't made for college. But his father had other plans for his only child. And the child had no plans as such.
So one summer morning, he simply left, with just the clothes on his back. He called seven days later, from somewhere high up in the Himalayas. And then again a month later from somewhere else. He still does call his mother. But she doesn't try to get him back.
Back in the room I pushed the door open and I saw something I had failed to notice ealier. Yogi painted. On the canvas that hung right before me, were footprints on sand. He called it 'Guitar and barefeet'
Those words brought the man of flesh of blood infront of my eyes when I closed them. The whole night I thought of Yogi. I liked his name so much, and wasn't he a Yogi? I thought of gay abandon and kept staring at 'Guitar and barefeet'.
Those footprints must have been Yogi's, I thought. I pondered over what he looked like and whether he remembered to shave. I mulled over the broken strings of his guitar and what music he liked. There are only a few people who followed the heart.
By dawn, I was completely in love with the 'idea' of Yogi. I placed a picture of mine right beside the painting. That picture, embodied the two passions of my being- 'Seashells and poetry'. I looked at the two of them for sometime. They looked like soul-mates.And I simply left.
Autumn Rain
Everything else in life can be forgotten. But autumn afternoons.
I was walking my own way and I saw the sides of the road strewn with dry leaves. Big and small. I looked up at the huge trees. They were all naked.
I stepped to the side. Crushed the dead leaves. The cracking sound. Felt good.
A whirlwind. A mild one. Carrying the yellow leaves from the trees, after a merry-go-round, adding to the heap below.
The breeze touched my face. I looked away. The sun was a distant ball of fluorescent yellow. Hiding behind stunted boughs of lonely trees.
I took a turn. I saw the moutain. Not green anymore, it was all grey. I wanted to walk to where the road ended and the moutain began. To a place from where there was nowhere left to go.
But then the wind grew cooler. And faster. Dry leaves flew past more often. I felt a drop plop on me. Rain. Autum rain.
Caution: The pic & the post are not together!
I was walking my own way and I saw the sides of the road strewn with dry leaves. Big and small. I looked up at the huge trees. They were all naked.
I stepped to the side. Crushed the dead leaves. The cracking sound. Felt good.
A whirlwind. A mild one. Carrying the yellow leaves from the trees, after a merry-go-round, adding to the heap below.
The breeze touched my face. I looked away. The sun was a distant ball of fluorescent yellow. Hiding behind stunted boughs of lonely trees.
I took a turn. I saw the moutain. Not green anymore, it was all grey. I wanted to walk to where the road ended and the moutain began. To a place from where there was nowhere left to go.
But then the wind grew cooler. And faster. Dry leaves flew past more often. I felt a drop plop on me. Rain. Autum rain.
Caution: The pic & the post are not together!
tonite before i disappear in the dark
my heart will miss a beat for sure
and it will say -'ah'
i'll light a candle
and get a cake of chocolate
the one that looks like a heart
mine & yours alike
music will flow in at midnight
i'll fill my room with confetti
and dance to sleep, in your arms
run my hands through your hair
and say those 'nothings' in your ears
later
i'll sit with myself
and remember
your words...your smells
the touch, the taste
& I've got to see you again~!
my heart will miss a beat for sure
and it will say -'ah'
i'll light a candle
and get a cake of chocolate
the one that looks like a heart
mine & yours alike
music will flow in at midnight
i'll fill my room with confetti
and dance to sleep, in your arms
run my hands through your hair
and say those 'nothings' in your ears
later
i'll sit with myself
and remember
your words...your smells
the touch, the taste
& I've got to see you again~!
On the verge of love
I'm feeling ugly tonight
Won't you stop by?
Say a word or two
And make me dance on the clouds again?
Won't you?
I know
I ain't as beautiful
I ain't fair
I don't have those blue eyes either
Nor the captivating dimples
But..nevetheless../
Won't you stop by?
Say a word or two
And make me dance on the clouds again?
Won't you?
I know
I ain't as beautiful
I ain't fair
I don't have those blue eyes either
Nor the captivating dimples
But..nevetheless../
About why I hate to...
One February afternoon sipping a hot beverage, my mind goes back half a dozen years to when I was 15. I stood in an empty field, dusk in the offing, between a guy and a girl. Both were equally good friends of mine. And so I was trying to bring in peace between them. Peace and Love. Yes, sadly one of them had fallen in love with the other and the the even sadder part was that I was the third person involved. Way back then, I didn't even know what stuff I was into.
So the one in love brings out a card, a hand made one. A big Sorry written on it. And what for is the person sorry? Because she had dared to make her infatuation public. And the guy was throwing those airs, pretending he was embarrased and not interested at all.
Now that was the first time ever that I played cupid. Thinking about it now, I understand the futility of my involvement. Later in life I met many people. And played cupid many times over. And one thing kept happening over and over again. I always failed. The guy, the girl and me...all of us in deep waters. Feet slur, desperately crying to get out and promising never ever to commit the sin again.
But Baang! Every time I see a broken heart, a heart longing for love, my heart melts. Enter I, centrestage. Trying to solve the whole thing. Throw away 'mis'-understandings that never were so. And at the end of it mess the whole thing up irreversibly. I don't even remember how many lovers have suffered for me.
So with V day round the corner, it's kind of a caveat to the people around. Don't ask me to deliver the cards to madamosile. Don't ask me for her number, id..whatever. Because I would be more than willing to help. But now you know that what utter failures we are gonna end up as...!!
So the one in love brings out a card, a hand made one. A big Sorry written on it. And what for is the person sorry? Because she had dared to make her infatuation public. And the guy was throwing those airs, pretending he was embarrased and not interested at all.
Now that was the first time ever that I played cupid. Thinking about it now, I understand the futility of my involvement. Later in life I met many people. And played cupid many times over. And one thing kept happening over and over again. I always failed. The guy, the girl and me...all of us in deep waters. Feet slur, desperately crying to get out and promising never ever to commit the sin again.
But Baang! Every time I see a broken heart, a heart longing for love, my heart melts. Enter I, centrestage. Trying to solve the whole thing. Throw away 'mis'-understandings that never were so. And at the end of it mess the whole thing up irreversibly. I don't even remember how many lovers have suffered for me.
So with V day round the corner, it's kind of a caveat to the people around. Don't ask me to deliver the cards to madamosile. Don't ask me for her number, id..whatever. Because I would be more than willing to help. But now you know that what utter failures we are gonna end up as...!!
-'precisely female feelings'-
-i am alone-i see people-i see hands and legs-and faces-unknown faces-faces i would never see again-i see an unwanted pace-i see blinding lights-i see murder-i see white sheets-i see windows to nothing-i see black-i see you-i see me-
-i am home-the smell of incense-i see my face in my favorite mirror-i see my old diaries-i see the boughs of the coconut- i see that time hasn't moved-the sound of silence-the crack on the wall-the wind on my face-the moon-me-you-
i believe whatever i write reads the same, thesedays. because whatever i think feels the same. because every guy i liked begins to feel the same. because i can't rid myself of this monotony. because i can't rid myself of me. because life has come a full circle, it just keeps repeating now.
i live my past, though i have very few livable memories. and i also live my future. my present is lost sometime in between. sometime when i stand at the end of the road and gaze at the blurred outline that mountain makes with the sky on a moonless night.
i listen to music. music that goes on in my mind always.
'You don't even know the meaning of the words I'm sorry
You said you would love me until you die
And as far as I know you're still alive
Baby
You don't even know the meaning of the words I'm sorry
I'm starting to believe
it should be illegal to deceive a woman's heart'
@gypsy-this is the song :)
PS: I don't want to get rid of the monotony either. that's what i live on...
-i am home-the smell of incense-i see my face in my favorite mirror-i see my old diaries-i see the boughs of the coconut- i see that time hasn't moved-the sound of silence-the crack on the wall-the wind on my face-the moon-me-you-
i believe whatever i write reads the same, thesedays. because whatever i think feels the same. because every guy i liked begins to feel the same. because i can't rid myself of this monotony. because i can't rid myself of me. because life has come a full circle, it just keeps repeating now.
i live my past, though i have very few livable memories. and i also live my future. my present is lost sometime in between. sometime when i stand at the end of the road and gaze at the blurred outline that mountain makes with the sky on a moonless night.
i listen to music. music that goes on in my mind always.
'You don't even know the meaning of the words I'm sorry
You said you would love me until you die
And as far as I know you're still alive
Baby
You don't even know the meaning of the words I'm sorry
I'm starting to believe
it should be illegal to deceive a woman's heart'
@gypsy-this is the song :)
PS: I don't want to get rid of the monotony either. that's what i live on...
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