Soup, Sun, Storm.

10:30am, Wednesday.
Post AiEe midterm exam, Kopitiam.

She weaves unfinished threads of Jeffs and scrapes and midnight escapades. Clippity clop clippity clop, tottering and teetering with a rectangular tigress cradled in her arms. He has a face you’ll never tire. I didn’t know what it was until she said it. No matter how tired you are, you carry yourself with so much grace. Grace. In a man, not a boy. Unravel, unravel a five-year tale about Grace. I want to hear it from the beginning, the part I like best that starts with once upon a time with blushes when the universe conspires and maybe happily ever afters. Nine years will be shorter than you think. Invite me! I want to see a Chinese wedding ceremony, the most legitimate reason I can think of for killing sharks. Tender is the beef floating in a soup of pho, warm like the day would be.

If only we had nothing better to do. To just sit here, stirring soup.

We ambled, strode and limped across with heavy burdens on our shoulders. 80% Milo inflation at Mr Tea! Tragic.

A gust of wind ruffled the trees. Leaves fluttered like yellow butterflies. Like yellow petals. Like a blizzard in the fall. Look! It’s pretty. Catch one before they fall and make a wish. Our feet slowed and savored the long walk to the library amidst the yellow rain. Look! Someone should film this, you said. Nah. They’ll never be able to capture this. This is for you, you and me to keep. No one else. Their grubby hands won’t touch it. It’s ours.

12:20pm, Wednesday. From Mr Tea to Library.
A maelstrom of yellow confetti on Campus Green.

old dirt road
knee deep snow
watching the fire as we grow old
mushaboom mushaboom.