"(the) way she tells me i'm hers and she's mine."
it's 1pm. my flight is horribly, horribly late. you've been waiting for 3 hours, and our minds are pregnant with expectation and anticipation, thoughts drifting in-between dread and nausea and excitement and that light-headed feeling we so often associate with love. we had this grand crazy idea, an impromptu plan to meet in los angeles, california. the city of angels, of fame and hollywood, where the sun never seemed to leave the sky even long after sunset hours... there was a kind of magic just in it's name alone. it was the first time we were meeting after two weeks of 9 hour skype calls, giggling under blankets, the beginning of a transcription of a long distance relationship between boston and singapore. where the moment i most felt your touch was through a 13" screen. we became travelers, shape-shifters - of time, of distance, morphing the oceans and the miles between us into nothing but dots and lines on a map. into nothing but the rise and fall of the tune of the jingle when you receive a skype call.
you see me in the lobby after you've been forced to battle time and your impatience with pints of beers and your face lights up in the most delightful way. and that was that, you know? take all our time and memories and put them together, replay it, and a few scenes will go by in slow-motion. this is one of them. all that fussing on how i actually felt sick (i swear i am going to throw up) just went away, a calm settles in the depth of my chest and i exhale slowly. everyone fades into blurred colours and shapes. there are two times when you feel this way, the first is when you are about to faint, and the second is when you realise you are falling hopelessly into the most cliched four-letter cliche. this is the latter.
i look at you and i laugh, and you laugh.
we hold hands for the first time.
it's 1pm. my flight is horribly, horribly late. you've been waiting for 3 hours, and our minds are pregnant with expectation and anticipation, thoughts drifting in-between dread and nausea and excitement and that light-headed feeling we so often associate with love. we had this grand crazy idea, an impromptu plan to meet in los angeles, california. the city of angels, of fame and hollywood, where the sun never seemed to leave the sky even long after sunset hours... there was a kind of magic just in it's name alone. it was the first time we were meeting after two weeks of 9 hour skype calls, giggling under blankets, the beginning of a transcription of a long distance relationship between boston and singapore. where the moment i most felt your touch was through a 13" screen. we became travelers, shape-shifters - of time, of distance, morphing the oceans and the miles between us into nothing but dots and lines on a map. into nothing but the rise and fall of the tune of the jingle when you receive a skype call.
you see me in the lobby after you've been forced to battle time and your impatience with pints of beers and your face lights up in the most delightful way. and that was that, you know? take all our time and memories and put them together, replay it, and a few scenes will go by in slow-motion. this is one of them. all that fussing on how i actually felt sick (i swear i am going to throw up) just went away, a calm settles in the depth of my chest and i exhale slowly. everyone fades into blurred colours and shapes. there are two times when you feel this way, the first is when you are about to faint, and the second is when you realise you are falling hopelessly into the most cliched four-letter cliche. this is the latter.
i look at you and i laugh, and you laugh.
we hold hands for the first time.
