the wild written pages iii

One, and two can be found here and here.

The Wild Typewritten Pages 3

I am always most creative just when I am about to fall asleep. Lately, before falling asleep, I’ve been thinking about Death. Many times people have told me that after dying your body whizzes to a stop and your mind freezes; but I simply cannot believe this. All the fire inside you, that electricity, those ideas, poems, words, dreams, thoughts, passions, swirling around, literally cannot ignite themselves after Death. 80, or 90 years is not enough for me to live. I need much more time to show the world what I am made of.

Whenever I think of Death, my stomach clenches up and I feel queasy. But I shouldn’t really; I should greet Death as an old friend when the time is right. Whether that be tomorrow or in a century. 

the wild written pages ii

The Wild Typewritten Pages 2

I should be taking my shower, I should be getting into my PJs, I should be brushing my hair, I should be eating dinner and reading. But I’m not. Because as much as I like traditions and routines, I think it is quite nice to be spontaneous. So here I am, outside watching the sunset, whilst reading “The Secret of Peaches”, a sequel that doesn’t act as if it is part of a series. A proud, well-written book. Just like the book I wouldn’t mind writing some day. The moon is bright, and I have hardly enough light to read, now and then Papa gently taps on the window with a raise of an eyebrow ‘Do you want them on?’ I shake my head with a smile; no I want to read by moonlight. It is almost as romantic as it sounds. After reading a couple or pages or so, I would look up to the wide blue expanse we call the Sky. Something so majestic, you instantly know that it is written with a capital. This sky is wise and deep and looks like a dark blue tapestry interwoven with shimmering lights. When I was younger I would get so excited seeing the first star, but then I would be told that it was a plane, just a simple manmade plane. Nothing like the bright dots I loved so much scattered on the tapestry on a cloudless night. Never will I tell a child that a star is actually a plane. Never will I crush a child’s dreams.

wild typewritten pages i

The Hunger Games. 

There. I said it. It is the most awesomest phenomenalest greatest coolest actionpackedest bestest book ever! And it is my baby. And I love it so. It has become and obsession of mine. Would you like to know the best feeling in the world? Curling up with the red hard cover book Jess lent me, the one with the black mocking jay on the front and reading for hours and hours, and giggling, crying, smiling and aching for these realistic characters. Entering the world, the sad, but wonderful world of Katniss Everdeen, aged 16, a strong, passionate fighter; who is fighting to be free, alongside Gale (whom I have a not-so-secret crush on) and Peeta, her best friend and lover -- though she hasn't decided which is which (Jacob vs Edward anybody?).

Sigh.

Anyways, don't mind me looking out into the distance dreaming up fantasies, mainly involving Gale. On to some other news -- because it has been a while since I have posted on my blog -- I am writing a book at the moment, it is called 'The Wild Written Pages' and it documents my life. It documents my thoughts and my dreams, it is a piece of me to be read when I am twenty something and I thought I was just 'so cute'. Pah, I'm not cute. Since it's super private, I'll only be sharing parts of it here. So, here it goes:

At our Deli, every Friday, there is this girl that has pale red hair and green eyes. She is the sort of person that you can’t help but admire. She is very delicate and her hair is always in a loose bun that peeks under her ‘Deli’ cap. She smiles a lot and seems to like her job. She seems to be soaking in the scents of fresh olives and Parmesan cheese, the sights of the perfectly round, and slightly fury peaches and the aura of each person. Anouk and I call her the ‘Pretty Girl’. I bet that at 6:45 PM she slowly unties her black apron, folds it carefully and with it in her hand she walks to her boss, and say ‘Mike, is there anything else I can do?’ and he would shake his head ‘No, you enjoy your Friday evening, hon, you’ve done enough’. She would smile, say bye to the Deli, and walk off in her T-Shirt and skinny jeans. She would jump in her parent’s old dark green car, back up, and drive off. She would put on one of her favourite CDs and dance to the rhythm of the music. Then, she would park at her apartment, hop out, grab her handbag and fumble with the keys. Once she’d be in, she would flop down on her couch and grab one of the numerous books she owned – a worn copy of the ‘Hunger Games’, open it and start reading, reading and reading far into the night she would read.

I wonder if, in the future, someone might think about me as the girl who sits on the parks’ bench reading every Saturday or that young woman who works at the Movies for a bit of money and smiles to everyone who asks for a ticket… Someone they could look up to.

Hope you liked it! Be excited, because far more little snippets to come. (This does NOT mean I'm abandoning 'My Words And I', I'm just trying out something new)

Love, and popcorn,

~ Lotus