Coffee.
Sleeplessness.
Haruki Murakami's Wind up bird chronicle
Dark windows.
Long movies.
Messages.
Faint morning light.
Hazy corridors.
Wet grass.
Dew.
Green. Sleepy green
Chirping crickets.
Cold stone bench.
Half moon right overhead.
Pale sky blue.
Three blackbirds.
Eyes wide open.
Pink. Bits of it.
Twitters.
Slithery noise in the grass.
Warm socks.
Red, red roses.
This is the best Monday of my life.
7 comments:
Languid afternoons that slip away into the twilight.
A warmth under eyelids that beg to be shut.
Work that refuses to get itself done.
Promises of a bright and shiny new week.
Only i was talking about sunday not monday :|. FAIL.
yeah yeah.
one word: Too many, too many coffee beans!!
Wet grass? Doesn't burn :)
:D :D :D :D
There should be a like option here.
U should have stayed awake for the next night as well. Would have been all-this + all-this-amplified. :)
Murakami does that. He's..something else, man.
ARE YOU HERE YET?!
you're going home?! do me a favour and don't meet up with suchi and sharan, ESPECIALLY simultaneously.
Post a Comment