I looked at you during the movie and you were perfect, and I knew I had fallen hard for you. It hurt me that I felt love everywhere permeating through my skin but it was all from me, just me. I hated how wrong it felt to be in love, hated love, hated you, hated everyone else in love. Hated me, for all the unspeakable words reaching out at me at the busstop. All I want is to freeze time, and we will have forever, not 30 days. Or to transfer my love away, to a boy or myself or an activity or the air, like how you threw yours away.

Yesterday words pierced me and made my face moist and sticky, then I recovered dizzy with the search. We had fingerlickin good Kentucky and gooey fries, and the night forgettable. My skin is brown and peeling from the regular swimming; it is a favourite activity because I dislike sweat. For 3 weeks I have not had ballet classes and I miss the snug fit of my feet intimately pressed against the pink leather, like a secondskin.

I am going to set the cinemas ablaze with hungry eyes, too many good movies and excessive work to complete this week. Leonardo Dicaprio ridiculously intense (again??), a mindless 3D cartoon, Clash of Titans. I am internet transported to lovely Phuket, everything is booked and unpaid. I can scarcely keep my imagination away.

I am messy now, messy with mental dictionaries and scholarly ideas because I have 3 papers to write. It is perfectly inconceivable to do a lit critique and a political science arguement concurrently, which calls for priority. It is alarmingly clear by word count.

Lit: 58
PS: 1569

If love is measured by words.