i guess, life, memories, and many things are, in the end, quite simply, a collection of really precious moments, moments like sitting on a park bench with your head on my lap, holding on to your hand and reading my book, having to flip the pages with one hand, like climbing into private gardens where we’re not supposed to enter, like saying hi, like having crappy inopportune roommates who say the wrong thing at the wrong time, like twirling spaghetti with your fork, like seeing you with your hair down face undone spectacles hanging off your nose, like saying i’ll be gone next week, like receiving an sms out of the blue saying that you’re sad, like you passing me the phone, like you saying that you’re just a girl, standing in front of a boy, hoping that he’ll like her.
[corrected some errors and added a few words, and it has become one long sentence. sorry for the initial state. it was desperately written at 5am after i watched notting hill and before i lost the feeling. thanks to b and j for liking it.]