“What does it mean to live?” asks the caterpillar as he was hung up on the lady in grey’s shoulder, trying to inch himself inside a tear on the lady’s clothing to feel warm.
“To live… i do not know. Really. I guess to live is to feel every waking moment — the sights that awe or instill fear in your eyes; the smell that could either fill your nostrils with the sweetest scents of the most putrid and vile thing you had ever stick your nose upon; a touch that might bring about familiarity of sensations on your fingertips that may either be rough or smooth, hot or cold…. the works. things that you encounter at the present, making you realize that every move, thought and word bring about ‘a ripple in a pond that sends things in motion.’ … ” said the lady in grey.. trailing off the last words in response to the caterpillar’s question.
“Hmmm.. that sounds… i dunno? that sounds very complicated to me.” The caterpillar then puts his hands on his chins and ponders while preventing himself from shivering.
It was a long way to the cliff, the air was starting to feel damp and chilly as the waves roll and crash along the edifices of the massive boulders below. It was her will to forget that dragged her wandering feet to this destination. Clutching the shard of mirror in hand, she didn’t realize that she was already bleeding until she felt a single drop of blood land on her feet.
and so my thought process stops here. >_> *sigh* not enough sorrow i guess?
i could only write this when i’m either deep in thought or when i feel sad about something.. on a brighter note, i guess utilizing your adversities into something productive like doing some homemade cooking or writing a story is a better thing to do than just moping around or whining about it.
i feel a lot better now i guess ( -.-)