love to dream,
love for more.
of what?
i'm not quite sure.
all i know is that the beauty of today is captured by my senses but how sad it is, that they have an expiration date in my memory before condemning themselves to live out their eternity in an inaccessible Pensieve.
today, it was gloomy.
today, i felt rather gloomy because it was gloomy.
i wish the sun would shine and maybe, the world won't seem like it is frowning on me and my lack of productivity.
this weekend, i witnessed greatness.
not perfection,
but greatness.
because he stumbled.
i'm betraying you with a journal.
and am replacing clattery keyboards with a penitent hand and a pilot pen.
i'm apologize; i am of extreme constancy, i swear.
(constancy = fidelity in jane austen)
of sense, i possess none.
of sensibility, there is an excess.
less of elinor, i am.
more of marianne, i embody.
and sad it is, for there is no happy ending for dear marianne.
more tomorrow,
maybe.
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