Tonight I started studying a book I borrowed from the library, The Making of a Poem, edited by Mark Strand and Eavan Boland.
I have just finished making notes about the nature of a villanelle and am surprised that a villanelle the book featured is one of my favourite poems - Elizabeth Bishop's One Art.
A villanelle is a strict poetic form, in which many poets have used to 'harp' on themes of particularly, loss.
Besides drama, poetry has become one of the arts I will always want to drown myself in.
I believe I have found my voice in this form, and I want to study it and use it and make it part of my career.
I want to be a travelling poet - just like Sierra DeMulder and Sarah Kaye.
I want to have my own session of sharing at BluJaz. Perhaps I'd like to perform at places that are more 'distinguished' in the future, but BluJaz was the first place I fell in love with poetry all over again. I want to hold my first show there. And I'll make sure that there are enough chairs to go around, baskets of fries are on me, and my best friends get front row seats. Pay for the alcohol yourself.
The other night I went to Sentosa with Jon and his army friends, and I crashed midway.
Boys can talk about army forever.
You were on my subconscious mind the whole night, and the only one my eyes longed to see, my ears longed to hearing you speak. Speaking with me. Looking at me. The night was long, five minutes of sleep felt like an hour.
Missing you has been a thing I try to get accustomed to, but it is a painful thing to consciously do.
It feels so natural to do everything with you; to go on adventures with, to expand and share (dirty) humour with, to be elephants with.
The state of which I picked my universities was of reverie; finally dreaming and finally seeing that through.
Yet when I think of you, I am plunged into a dream and waking up will be hard to do, but at least we wake up together. And when I do, my eyes will be looking into yours and yours alone.
How much I love you, I cannot put into words.
I know you'll be with me till the end.
Um. (blush)
