tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-231958912012-02-17T07:39:42.153+08:0014th century Old French ‘Place to lie in wait’Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.comBlogger3221100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-54277280851474599652012-01-29T18:38:00.000+08:002012-01-29T18:57:53.567+08:00

Girls. If there is one thing I want you to know, it is that You are beautiful. You are not what you weigh. You are not what you look like. You are what you choose to be, in speech thought and action, you are your own woman. You are worth infinitely more than money in your pocket, a man around your arm, or what they have to say about you. The world has forgotten what it means to love. As we

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-86837015038956121822012-01-13T00:31:00.000+08:002012-01-13T00:31:03.547+08:00

You know I love you, humanly unconditional, when my heart breaks for you, and cries the tears even you have not shed, even if it's for someone else.

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-15333746802845983732012-01-07T03:00:00.000+08:002012-01-07T03:00:47.795+08:00

我知道故事不會太曲折 我總會遇見一個什麼人 陪我過沒有了她的人生 成家立業之類的等等 她做了她覺得對的選擇 我只好祝福她真的對了 愛不到我最想要愛的人 誰還能要我怎樣呢 我愛的人 不是我的愛人 她心裡每一寸 都屬於另一個人 她真幸福 幸福得真殘忍 讓我又愛又恨 她的愛怎麼那麼深? 我的愛人 她已有了愛人 從他們的眼神 說明了我不可能 每當聽見 她或他說(我們) 就像聽見愛情 永恆的嘲笑聲 Jordan Chan 我愛的人

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-5169247472881495692012-01-07T01:07:00.001+08:002012-01-07T01:11:28.405+08:00

I would have bent over backwards for you, flown into darkness to count the stars. I would have dried your tears with my lips. I would've given anything I can, just so you can be whole. I wasn't asking for anything. And I never will ask for anything in return. I've hung my hat on the wall with  "we'll always be friends." Okay. We'd make great friends. Does that make me the friend that loves

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-31780175352124138392012-01-04T00:16:00.001+08:002012-01-04T00:16:22.005+08:00

And then, you look to the sky at the point where you're on your knees. All of a sudden it morphs into a silent canvas of white and grey. It's okay to love. Even if it costs you everything. Honey, it's okay to love. One day I will say to you, "I will stay up as long as it takes with you, because staying up with you helps me get past waking up without you."

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-26931868054469173822011-12-18T11:39:00.001+08:002011-12-18T11:43:50.527+08:00

If you talk about "changing the world" or "making history," odds are you don't yet have a Christ-centered understanding of the Gospel.  In the birth/life/death/resurrection of Christ, the world was literally changed. One Age closed & another began. The future that God is bringing has already happened in Christ. Our aim isn't to change the world or make history; it's to announce that the

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-30518613110391796882011-12-17T02:27:00.001+08:002011-12-17T10:00:48.260+08:00

When learning was uncomplicated, I was the child who'd stand on the table in excitement because I knew the answer to a math question. (I assumed it was pretty crazy, the teacher called my parents that evening). Well, back then there was no insight. Now that learning has become complicated, I shy away from all that. Politics in academia has tainted pedagogy in a way that it's nothing short of

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-44780977252791715652011-12-06T22:48:00.001+08:002011-12-06T22:57:22.237+08:00

Everything comes in parts. Like how I wanted my tea this morning (sadly I had none). Nevertheless everything, comes in parts. Take my past for instance. The fragments of which I can't really say I can accurately join back. Or my future, of which the missing pieces makes this tattered fabric far from anything near tapestry. Take the person next you, they too come in parts. Part body, part soul,

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-59842444135074575102011-10-12T01:47:00.002+08:002011-10-12T01:47:38.603+08:00

An interrupted creek creeps effortlessly between the rocks. It's fluid arms gently fold around each, embracing them with the cool of the dawn, as the sun, the lone star of the sky illuminates between the leaves, akin little blinds shining forth delight into the undiscovered beauty that now flows in a stream so clear. Each blade of grass gladly carries it's burden of a dewdrop so thick, as the

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-85887901222063238472011-10-11T00:18:00.000+08:002011-10-11T00:22:46.139+08:00

I used to ask God for the ability to dream. Big, and perchance, more practical dreams. I talk big, dream bigger, but I probably have the heart of a mouse. And in all my idealistic blunders occasionally I find that perhaps the silliest dreams come true more often than not. I loved living my life through the experiences of others. Not that my own lacked in flavor or even drama, just maybe even my

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-5611493218642249742011-10-05T00:17:00.003+08:002011-10-05T00:17:54.744+08:00

Occasionally I may stumble across the one melody that transports me back to my darkest times. Or something that bubbled up from an inglorious past. Or that identification with emotions past. In the many faculties of my heart and mind I find emotions past more vivid than memories. Scalded onto a whimpering soul, scars of the battles my heart and mind fought a long time ago. The world will seek

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-91978262207098843882011-09-26T00:34:00.001+08:002011-09-26T00:34:34.695+08:00

Beyond the ocean blue, a stranger. So beautiful in all that is unknown about him. Beyond the fair bright sky, home. So beautiful in the little that I've come to know. Beyond this dense layer of saturated air, someone. So beautiful in all the He is.

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-26031615387170425432011-09-10T03:02:00.002+08:002011-09-10T03:02:48.527+08:00

I think I used to be so naive it was almost silly. I never believed in fairy tales, just happy endings. Which really was worse than believing in fairy tales, but no idealist will say that to another, never in a million years. I believed. Maybe that's what it was. It made me do things I cringe thinking about now. I had asked for sixteen kisses on my cheek for my sixteenth birthday, I won't tell

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-59115829311146605662011-08-15T22:54:00.000+08:002011-08-15T22:54:03.280+08:00

The tender spot your beautiful gray eyes once pierced still ever soft, ever sore.

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-72241342580044230542011-06-30T00:00:00.001+08:002011-06-30T18:37:21.300+08:00

And there she was, in the prime of her youthful ignorance. Skipping along a quiet coast, gentle waves caressing her feet. There was no wonder about the source of her joy, for when she looked up, it was like the worlds have coalesced into an over sized canvas. And the only thing between her and the one she loves was nothing but her well acquainted friend called distance. And far above, in the

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-2421136359334443372011-06-17T14:37:00.000+08:002011-06-17T14:37:50.871+08:00

You will never know how ridiculously easy it is to love someone who loves someone else, but yet you will never know how immensely difficult it is to get out of it, until and unless it's you.Just sayin'. 

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-48713049395935361262011-06-03T08:58:00.001+08:002011-06-03T09:05:21.406+08:00

Go ahead and take me as a lie. It's never really the abuse of trust that cuts the deepest. Almost entirely always, the absence. I hope you're comforted. Isn't exactly the best start of the day. But I'm getting there. Good morning.

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-71506880750132504152011-05-30T22:03:00.000+08:002011-05-30T22:03:50.501+08:00

I hate the way you don't care. But most of all, I hate the way I do.

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-86120005050927861292011-05-28T09:37:00.006+08:002011-05-29T01:22:44.487+08:00

Photo: Kenneth Wong The lighthouse by the cliff looks awkward to say the least. Last night was no different. Sitting in the lantern room, I was overwhelmed by the darkness, overwhelmed by the irony. So I let light pour out along the irregular coast. Bursting forth, illuminating these jagged rocks I've called home. And from up here, the ocean's tremendously different at night. There weren't any

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-54172251740298094402011-05-27T13:24:00.001+08:002011-05-27T13:24:33.914+08:00

Find myself inarticulate, most of the time. Because we've got yesterday covered, and while tomorrow is still a mystery, as headlights beyond a distant fog. Still, inarticulately, sing your song today then, the song that will make even this songbird cry. Still inarticulately, write your story today then, the story that will bring even this generation change. Still inarticulately, orate your

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-79623701993545573192011-05-25T21:32:00.000+08:002011-05-25T21:32:45.533+08:00

I've been to the stars and back. None were as beautiful as you. Not even close. But it didn't stop them from trying.

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-50449929940447751232011-05-17T23:49:00.001+08:002011-05-18T00:00:17.911+08:00

  Yesterday, I folded my heart into a boat and released it into the storm.And to it I whispered silent goodbyes.Today, I will let the unrelenting raindrops saturate the space that is,Now that there is no space for you and I. A very special friend once told me "The thing about pain and tragedy is that they make our hearts bigger, stronger, more unshakable. It is after these tribulations that we

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-84629477326694333492011-04-28T02:07:00.000+08:002011-04-28T02:07:00.301+08:00

I can find no substitute for Eternity. In the common mind, akin to the bird who never wakes to find that it has forgotten it's song. Or the heart that never forgets to beat. But the beauty of Eternity, is that Eternity has begun, And Eternity lives on forever. I pray, that I will never find the need to be reminded that I love You. Then, that Love would be, for eternity.

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-40912275543485554332011-04-18T18:27:00.001+08:002011-04-18T22:22:41.490+08:00

Behind every eye that has stared into yours there is a story. In the quietness of comfort, not every story is told. In the rage of storms within, not every song is heard. There are many who pass through the Station of Dreams. Each story and each song deposited by the millions who carry such luggage. Each faceless, each hollow. To every shoulder they rub, they carry a part of the other. None

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-16963541895187955142011-04-06T01:01:00.000+08:002011-04-06T01:01:31.517+08:00

For even the darkest of nights has its dawn. And at the far end of the open where the sky dances upon the waters, As the morning colours fold upon one another, The sun will rise yet again. And as all nature holds its breath as I rouse from my slumber, A new day has come.

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-15382080889063690232011-03-30T01:51:00.007+08:002011-04-06T00:39:16.232+08:00

"You won't relent until you have it all, my heart is yours"                     Misty Edwards  The Jesus Culture cover of this song has been burning behind my eyes for the longest time. Can you for a moment envision love that burns so deep? That love could be (beyond what they tell you) unrelenting? That sole act of purposeful faithfulness, purposeful refusal to fail, unyielding perseverance to

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-65351658100526395662011-03-15T00:42:00.004+08:002011-03-15T01:04:28.992+08:00

They try to put you in a box. But your sheer will lives forever. Sometimes people leave after they have received what they wanted from you. Sometimes, because they haven't. Mostly we forget, Sometimes (however hard it is to come to terms with).. They just do. ** They can't blend you into nothingness. Always remember, you emerged from it. They can't strip you of your worth. But they can make

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-67588653273999926662011-03-12T20:06:00.002+08:002011-03-12T20:16:44.668+08:00

Hello keyboard, it's been a while. Been spending my last few days catching up on much needed rest, despite having typed much nonsense on dingy nights to people awake on said dingy nights. I have also spent my week defaulting homework, which I vowed to complete over the course of this God sent weekend. This week, I too discovered the downside of patient care, having interacted with some people

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-61882876272801020552011-02-24T00:48:00.003+08:002011-02-24T01:05:24.667+08:00

Tonight I remembered my first date. It was a year ago, maybe two, I can't remember. It was a dream, just as much as you were then, more so now. And there you were. I can't remember your face but I guess you were smiling.I remember the butterflies. Between you and me, I think they're more real in dreams. I remember opening my closet to find that I had nothing to wear. I remember rehearsing clever

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-58361932819471789452011-02-22T23:24:00.002+08:002011-02-22T23:32:11.842+08:00

I believe that for every decision you make, your value lies in your ability to stand alone. The power of justification will sway fact to fiction (or how about the other way around), friend to foe. Sometimes I have time to wonder about the decisions people make. Who they choose to be, who they choose not to be. Sometimes, more often than not, I'm forced to wonder about the motives behind the

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-46476644470858955512011-02-18T01:52:00.001+08:002011-02-18T02:00:07.819+08:00

There is a restless sky drawn with invisible hopes. Yet a lot of grief and strive walk these streets. Each waiting for your cure. A collective inaudible whimper with heads hung low. Every eye drawing grit, every word piling rubble. This bright night takes me down this flight. As the crowd drones louder and as my reflection and voice mingle.. Hold on. Find me lost, not diluted. I think perhaps

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-57435538230822370712011-02-13T01:23:00.001+08:002011-02-13T16:57:47.467+08:00

It's just times like these when you find There really isn't much more air to breathe in. And as you open your eyes to see a world trapped in a timeless vacuum. As I wait, bated breath and all the cliched lines replayed like a broken record silently awaiting your arrival. I want the only way for you to find me is to find me lost. Lost in all you are.

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-85584708672842107212011-02-05T01:57:00.000+08:002011-02-05T01:57:27.649+08:00

"And all my sandcastles spend their time collapsing"                               Switchfoot, Let that be enough.The greater tragedy is not crying while you watch a romantic comedy you've seen nine times before. The tragedy lies only in the fact that you can identify the tragical character in you. Such empathy is usually unearned, but it does tell a fine tale about what makes you tick. I'm

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-39484685092384634762011-01-29T09:54:00.000+08:002011-01-29T09:54:47.098+08:00

I woke up this morning thinking about you. I couldn't tell if it was because I had been dreaming about you, (because I have been, and despite the dream being a good one, waking up knowing you will not be there made it a nightmare, at least.) Because you, even you, would not want to be in my dreams. Or maybe, I just miss you. So the distance between my knees and the ground is where I find my

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-29528160143257491792011-01-28T09:41:00.000+08:002011-01-28T09:41:03.307+08:00

Every new day as I open my eyes I see the little things that gives me hope. Hope of no particular magnitude, or in no particular significance, perhaps but still so beautiful. Something beautiful in everything I see. Okay, I'm not being a "girl", but today when I watched this I sobbed. Just those little things that make your day.

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-62482271497781248642011-01-06T13:59:00.002+08:002011-04-06T00:33:58.572+08:00

Have you ever loved with fear in your hearts? If you have then you would understand how good it feels to punish yourself. The secret sense of satisfaction to know that pain is deserved, and chastisement is redemption toward an unknown, perhaps, transient goal. But really,  "There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear: because fear has torment. He that fears is not made perfect in

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-1878703935281150602010-12-31T02:57:00.001+08:002010-12-31T02:58:30.959+08:00

Twenty feet of snow all around and I'm hoping for dew. Twenty foot waves and I come to a place too difficult to hope. What I've done fights with who I've been. The latter haunts me less, but the former reminds me of who I cannot be. And I'll fight that, till I cross the river. I'll fight that, because I know it can not be true, neither can I allow it to be. "When everything inside me looks like

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-79559915687419157362010-12-31T00:14:00.000+08:002010-12-31T00:14:30.336+08:00

And my dear readers. There are men who lie, and there are men who lie. And lying to yourself that he isn't is really, not solving anything. Then now what?

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-70246847205698694982010-12-05T02:00:00.001+08:002010-12-05T02:09:08.182+08:00

There is a child, whom the world has spoken about. Maybe not one, but a generation of children. A generation of children whose skewed perspective about love and security has sealed for them a future of uncertainty and fear. A generation of children who will grow up to deny love, to have never experienced or have never explored their capacity to love. There are children, rejected from the womb,

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-92088256180531237972010-11-28T11:13:00.000+08:002010-11-28T11:13:30.344+08:00

So a time for a breather. Sorry I've been away for a while. Even the keyboard seems so foreign to me, I used to find great comfort in typing out words I would otherwise never chance upon. But that being said, there are still things to be done and I for one, have returned to that sweet spot of paranoia. You know, that feeling when you've just had all the ideas and all the inspiration in the world

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-76741991313813907422010-10-18T23:10:00.001+08:002010-10-18T23:17:27.358+08:00

I don't know about you. It's been insane lately. But I'm just going to take a moment to recount the small things I would otherwise forget. The defining moments in my life are the moments when I'm in the lift with someone with nothing to say. Pregnant pause, awkward silence. Or when I say the stupidest things in front of the people I want to impress the most. How I rub my face/eyes when I'm

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-29033503019321787732010-10-10T01:50:00.000+08:002010-10-10T01:50:33.221+08:00

"As we eye The blue horizon's bend Earth and sky Appear to meet and end But it's merely an illusion Like your heart and mine There is no sweet conclusion I can see No matter how near you'll be You'll never belong to me But I can dream Can't I Can't I pretend That I'm locked in the bend Of your embrace For dreams Are just like wine, And I am drunk With mine I'm aware My

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-56826312523707899772010-09-05T16:06:00.001+08:002010-09-05T16:08:07.954+08:00

Just reached home an hour ago and a sudden surge of memories took over me like overexcited preschool kids. Haha. You know you are different when... So I was staring at this trophy I received from a public speaking contest some few years back. And I still remember that night clearly. All the finalists were given the same topic, something that went like "If you could do one thing to change the

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-42788615648354933422010-09-02T17:06:00.001+08:002010-09-03T00:30:28.999+08:00

I have asked myself many questions with the hope of an unadulterated answer. And when was the last time you questioned your motives in doing anything? I have seen many do things for the sake of doing them, never really understanding why, or what was worth the effort in the first place. But that's not who I want to be. The world is shouting out for us to follow blindly behind a pre-planned pattern

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-17074669107506725412010-08-22T16:03:00.003+08:002010-08-22T16:18:03.043+08:00

This wooden flooring transforms me into a child again. Home.  I've spent some time looking at people who love people who love other people. And I'm wondering, where did all the complexity come from? You would think that when all of science sings praises of Man's indomitable spirit and higher intellect, things would get easier the more they develop. In an ideal world, love is simple and

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-34030714941431391372010-08-19T01:43:00.000+08:002010-08-19T01:43:46.293+08:00

You are the Lifter of my head. "Too many of us hope, too few of us believe" is what he said. I choose to believe.

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-31804314438625335702010-08-02T17:32:00.002+08:002010-08-03T13:47:40.250+08:00

I remember this strong sturdy mango tree in the middle of my mother's garden as a child. There was nothing extravagant or awe-inspiring of this tree, its fruits were sour and in reality it was a little stunted and gave off branches at the most awkward angles. Strangely, I recall the many hours in the many evenings spent climbing up this tree, although not to the top, and even that, to me felt

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-63658133942172961902010-07-08T15:30:00.000+08:002010-07-08T15:30:40.833+08:00

Thoughts on a warm afternoon fill my bed as undreamt dreams float through a weary body. I clasped it tight to my heart, heaved a wearisome sigh, the crimson chunk a frenzy as cars moved speedily by could it be me, could it be you can it be us. Pulled up to a pavement covered with grim cobblestone reflections of passer-bys sad yet unknown could it be me, could it be you can it be us. But you

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-80039799915625145942010-07-08T12:39:00.001+08:002010-07-08T12:41:08.068+08:00

and life, as in all things that precedes it, or proceeds from it, never comes cheaply. Sometimes I wonder if it's all worth it in the end. And perhaps, even you do too. The tears that blood thirsty people incessantly milk with your eyes wide shut. It is as if your tears will bring solace in this world of unending clamour, an anecdote of fear and insecurity all paid with the price of your blood.

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-65188566364840227622010-07-03T15:17:00.000+08:002010-07-03T15:17:15.190+08:00

Just a lazy afternoon like this, would be perfect. This morning, as I laid in bed quietly without a sound, my eyes whispered a bright good morning to a new day. The storm has blown over. And now, without a sound, in this tiny dim lit room. Curled up with a good novel, of tales from worlds I have never seen waiting by the phone to read sweet nothings I think, the only thing missing is you.

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-26006741765462960442010-06-25T01:19:00.010+08:002010-06-25T12:07:59.685+08:00

Fast forward now. If only it was as simple as a little pre-set button. If only there was so much control in my own life. In the blur of passing motion, all colour is reduced to one insignificant shade of ascending darkness, a spectrum of black and white, patches of abominable, repugnant grey. And as I pause. Slowly colours reverse into the blurred, fading picture, a slow morphing of ridiculous

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-71310269452131095052010-06-22T21:36:00.005+08:002010-06-25T02:01:47.798+08:00

And everywhere I look there are mismatched faces, Crying tears and laughing aloud Everywhere I turn there are people going places But no one knows where, nobody knows how. And somewhere in that chaos I find myself afraid. That you would walk on by without noticing. Without noticing how I try to say the right things or smile the right way. Or how much time I invested articulating my thoughts and

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-6121422273721136532010-05-30T03:29:00.002+08:002010-05-30T03:36:35.985+08:00

For everything has its season, said the willow by the lake. It's branches low and humble, it's leaves tenderly sway. And still it is not me who tells which way the wind blows, But all i know i've lived a good life, and sheltered many weary souls. I have felt your back leaning against my trunk, your perspiration a sign of the sweet wine you had not drunk. And every tear you shed under my gentle

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-18401581572198519472010-05-29T03:02:00.002+08:002010-05-29T03:08:02.135+08:00

This heart beats for this reason, and this one reason only. Sometimes, my hand will find it's way to my chest to feel that familiar thump reverberating. Every beat solid, thought of, unmistakably mine. A metronome for my every step, a melody to my every song. And I could love you with every fibre of my heart but you will still win, because you are love. And I could run to you with every muscle,

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-45375056526240633762010-05-20T14:15:00.002+08:002010-05-20T15:04:52.824+08:00

I wonder what you see when you see me. Because i'm feeling a little too insecure right now. There's something in my chest, beating away the size of my fist, the little deceitful thing. I can't tell you what I see when you see me. I've never been brave enough to look. I can't imagine having to lift my eyes to see your disappointment now that you can finally see, what you took.

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-9553477565081396822010-05-17T22:24:00.002+08:002010-05-17T22:41:10.227+08:00

There is something beyond this bend that I cannot see. Everyone has a tragedy in write. Mine, is the fact that the tragedy is even in write. I have told ceaseless tales about bravery and heroism in life and love, in both happy and sad endings. And then, there was you. But me. There will always be eyes I cannot stare into, words I cannot say, emotions I cannot acknowledge, and prayers I find

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-33277690340994354012010-05-16T11:51:00.004+08:002010-05-17T01:20:22.121+08:00

Sunset along the beach at Hard Rock Hotel Penang yesterday. Is it your heart that you must find before you find love. Or does love find you, in the most unexpected places, through the most unforeseen eyes. And the winds of the world may urge you, stop, turn, go astern. And what is it that they are saying, that love is dead, when every colour I see in the sunset testifies of its eternity and

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-53272857387598279642010-04-30T23:15:00.000+08:002010-04-30T23:15:08.867+08:00

I had once seen a man, holding a woman firmly in his arms on an endless stretch of beach during sunset and knew that he loved her. I had once heard, that he did not live to marry her, or make her dreams come true. I had once cried over heartbreak that wasn't mine. And I thought it was amazing, what you allow yourself to feel and what you don't. What you allow yourself to see, and what you blind

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-75123591621487906992010-04-20T17:13:00.002+08:002010-04-20T17:17:15.712+08:00

I paid a price for ignorance, innocence could not pay a price so hefty I simply cannot say. It took years to heal a wound I cannot see It took years to know I wasn't becoming who I wanted to be. And now I see a new day approaching where fear and tears no longer encroaching The price was paid to set me free now that there is no longer space for you and me.

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-34185542013195080292010-04-09T02:13:00.005+08:002010-04-09T10:37:52.579+08:00

I wanted a pair of shoes. I mean, my mind is getting pretty sore. Think of those lovely paths, with smooth refined cobblestones, always so pleasant. Sometimes, when no one's watching, I let myself go, and try to wiggle a toe, maybe two between stones. Or perhaps the soft warm sand on the beach at sunset, a little damp but completely satisfying. Better still, when He comes silently,

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-72096802272999595652010-04-05T11:49:00.000+08:002010-04-05T11:49:55.488+08:00

And as the nail pierced you, how can it be. You were thinking of me. Even a wretch like me. There is truly no greater love than this.

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-67037992303297334262010-03-31T01:09:00.002+08:002010-03-31T01:19:16.918+08:00

Some days you wake up in the morning feeling so good in your own skin. Yea, even the wrinkly flabby pimply bits. Hopefully, not all at the same place. Some days overstay their welcome. Like today. But sometimes, it's fun to be me, for a split second. Maybe it's still okay to take in some silliness once in a while. Or some sun, fun, and quadriceps. I'm wearing fatigue like a bullet proof vest. I

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-5293739853729031852010-03-29T01:15:00.002+08:002010-03-29T01:18:35.846+08:00

Others can never outdo oneself in deceiving themselves. Many come close to living a life by living a lie. For some, it only differs by an alphabet. For some, the discernment of both keeps them true to themselves, and others, should they matter. For some, both are conjugated, incorporated. Life embracing lies and lies embracing lives. But if for a moment. Life is not a lie. Was not a false gift.

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-66325818588670802092010-03-27T02:43:00.002+08:002010-03-27T03:10:07.820+08:00

Sometimes. It is so nice to be found. You know you're not nowhere, because you have to be somewhere, to be found. Getting somewhere would mean having gone through something. And being found would mean you would've met someone. Because somehow, you would have to get lost, to somehow be found somewhere. Somehow, somewhere, sometime, someone. Here. Now. You. How can I not smile?

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-9194302001812758322010-03-27T02:28:00.000+08:002010-03-27T02:28:36.311+08:00

Did I ever tell You how beautiful You are. How You paint my life into the bright sky every time we met, like secret lovers in a distant, parallel universe. I remember how the fragrance of Your presence draws me so close to You, my only available emotional response is to cry. Did I tell You how amazing You are. Every minute detail of creation shouts it. Every colour of every reflection, every

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-84298726690637303172010-03-25T03:37:00.004+08:002010-03-25T04:06:46.788+08:00

There is a message I'm trying to convey. And it is not because this bear has a perpetual smile. Bears. What do you see in this one? Everytime I close my eyes, and think about the impossible things that people around me have to bear on a daily basis, I open my eyes. Quicker than instantly. Because the thought of thinking about that thought would've been too difficult. Handicapped children,

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-41190323208319782612010-03-24T01:10:00.000+08:002010-03-24T01:10:13.439+08:00

Because I can't even begin to tell you how beautiful sunrises are.

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-41499555048463415932010-03-23T16:19:00.002+08:002010-03-23T23:59:59.226+08:00

Sunrise over the Penang Bridge. There are many things I can't do that I want to do. There are also many things that I should've/could've done but didn't. Like how I instinctively look at the ground/my toes when a hot guy walks past. I can't exactly catergorize that as the first or second, maybe it's both. I wonder, if I met you one day. And the whole time I intently stared at my

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-73820657168245221572010-03-16T23:22:00.002+08:002010-03-17T02:10:20.433+08:00

Have you ever paid enough attention to those young shoots: The way those small potent buds seem to aimlessly poke out of the comforts of the rigid tree, exposing themselves to the unpredictable environment; each, just trying to survive. Just trying to survive. And I think, we all have Buddies for a reason. You see, these buddies are all imperfect little formless flowers. The bees could care

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-72534807804852436512010-03-13T02:55:00.002+08:002010-03-13T03:27:29.065+08:00

I tread a fine line between within and without. Watching the world from an altered angle. Looking in, looking out. It's a beautiful night. Quiet, as You speak to me. It's been so long since I have met You here.

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-48606467581745764242010-03-11T17:58:00.003+08:002010-03-11T18:03:27.551+08:00

These city lights drown out the little screaming stars overhead. And that is how I begin to think about you. Nothing magical, nothing miraculous. I wonder if you see the same stars I see. All in their bright array. Reflecting a freckle of God's beauty. And void of anything magical and wondrous. Do you see what I see? Do you then begin to think of me? Stars can be so cruel sometimes.

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-89592066339180137352010-03-11T02:10:00.003+08:002010-03-11T04:04:03.427+08:00

That's all I have. That's all I am. I don't know what you want. All I see is the door in front of my face. All I feel is your hand on the knob. All I hear is you locking it from the other side. All I know is goodbye.

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-27322983142756078432010-03-05T18:45:00.001+08:002010-03-06T01:26:25.342+08:00

I'm not claiming the discovery of cartwheeling. But more : the love for cartwheeling. I know it sounds mighty ridiculous : it's something so small! I fondly remember the first time I saw someone cartwheel. I was 8, so was he, he sat beside me in class and occasionally held my hand, and did cartwheels on the corridor just because I asked him to (and boy was he good at that). I didn't know love at

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-61142100013797113052010-03-04T02:11:00.001+08:002010-03-04T02:12:38.638+08:00

Thomson's T-shirt once said; "If you can't take the pain, don't play the game"But that's the thing : Love is not a game. However pain, comes so readily. He comes and goes, messing up your entrails in the process. First, he allows you to stomach copious amounts of butterflies. Then the rest, doesn't end pretty. I cry for those, who has had their hearts broken one time too many. I applaud you for

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-34570618981992393992010-03-03T03:27:00.004+08:002010-03-03T03:43:56.615+08:00

I'm in a mighty good mood. Maybe because Monday semi-sucked ( I was expecting a mega-potential-suck restoration but my patient didn't turn up and lines were jammed. But secretly I felt disappointed. I know right, I can't even decide on how I'm feeling, I am really, absolutely messed up. So today I was doing some CPU-soul-searching and I came across some pictures that made me smile. Here's one.

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-9464769947659659032010-02-28T16:15:00.001+08:002010-02-28T16:16:35.066+08:00

As then, Your smoke, my mirrors. In fact, a labyrinth of mirrors enclose me, tightening, coiling walls of reflective vanity-toys closing in on me. And, you, like smoke, fill this entire room with your scent once fragrant, but now a stench of rotting memories. You're deceptive like smoke, neither tangible nor solid, you lie to my primitive sense, your deceit sucked into my lungs, suffocating me

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-48538032494255048882010-02-26T04:55:00.001+08:002010-02-26T04:56:06.472+08:00

What a relief a cold shower can be. Even though it's almost 5am. Having to be up in 3 hours really gives the whole insomnia induced stream of garbage in my brain the extra edge. So much for futsal till wee hours. Inevitably, recently self-esteem version 2.0 still has its bad days. You know, those that include head-in-soil burying. Especially after Mondays. You know the feeling when you have two

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-16404061557613070982010-02-26T04:25:00.000+08:002010-02-26T04:25:00.730+08:00

Today, we lost you. But I don't know how to grieve for you. And as I sat there, thinking of how you left, my heart did not know how to mourn for you. Or maybe it didn't know where to begin, or how. When our eyes used to meet, it was a sense of knowing. You are family. It is indeed sad we'll never meet again, but your children and their children's children will carry on your legacy, your love, as

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-58923738059267300042010-02-21T23:41:00.001+08:002010-02-21T23:42:45.953+08:00

It's a once a  year thing; it's about going Home. How things change in one year! (or two for some). And I began to wonder, oh my, how we've grown up. I can't believe how old we sounded (in retrospect). Asking about life partners and plans, work, jobs and schedules. But you guys still seem to be the same old buddies from before. Look the same, talk the same, walk the same. Oh how I've missed you.

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-16070569216167690922010-02-10T03:06:00.000+08:002010-02-10T03:06:42.540+08:00

Today was intensely insane.In my nothingness, I came up with this. Sudden movements while my phone's camera said "Saving". I almost patted myself on the back with the sudden spark of ingenuity, before I realised 20 nanoseconds later, that people have been doing this since the dawn of photography. The carpeted class floor swirling in a concentric frenzy with my "formal" shoes as the centre. Note:

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-47458885249211070092010-02-08T18:04:00.001+08:002010-02-08T21:12:16.824+08:00

These eyes, the eyes of raging seas,Your crown of thorns gashes deep through me.My flaws bleed ceaseless, through my brains,my blood dissolves, dissipates within my veins. Inhuman now, you claw my back,I carry your expectations, tightening vines around my neck.Your hollow screams echo through my soul,My inaudible cries freezes the night so cold. I carry your scars a woman of shame,,Unable to

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-79889624305084542462010-02-07T00:03:00.000+08:002010-02-07T00:03:10.875+08:00

"There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness but of power. They are messengers of overwhelming grief and of unspeakable love."Washington Irving

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-74720408367927381442010-02-04T13:24:00.003+08:002010-02-04T13:27:24.299+08:00

It's always a pleasant surprise when you come visit me in my dreams. Just as my loneliness reached its peak on a  warm, endless night.  In my dreams you came back for me and found me waiting. And this time, you were you. It thrilled my heart when my resting mind recognised your form. Somehow it was agonizing how real the dream was. Because I knew it was you. I breathed you in; not wanting to

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-33740795617392466232010-02-02T23:13:00.001+08:002010-02-04T13:11:12.650+08:00

You. Sometimes you make me wonder who you are. Well, as it seems to be, I don't know. In fact, I've never heard of your name, stared into your eyes, or heard your voice. Though, you may be nameless, blind and mute. I've never experienced the fragrance of your presence, the joy of your smile or satisfaction in seeing the lines that physically bring you to life in this dimension. In fact, you may/

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-33099006883012991502010-01-31T14:10:00.003+08:002010-01-31T17:33:58.533+08:00

Back. In so many ways. School for one. Also. I have a renewed zeal for writing perhaps starting with being more focused on my blog. And a renewed zeal for reading. In fact, life is funny like that. I'm back here with school starting in 19 hours, without road-tax (so I can't drive) cuddled up in bed reading a book called "Freedomland". Nice touch. I spent my holidays not doing much. A week of

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-37501105790883151592010-01-27T11:58:00.010+08:002010-01-28T00:46:12.709+08:00

I really meant to write this/something/anything as soon as the exams ended on Friday (yes, by now, it's LAST Friday), but somethings got in the way, and me being me, I dragged it all the way to Wednesday. Nice. Also because I spent Thursday night into Friday morning editing pictures which I thought would be nice, since it's been forever since I've posted pictures... (well since, the eerily creepy

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-42396015845287733542010-01-17T16:52:00.004+08:002010-01-28T00:46:31.000+08:00

It is always.. Difficult (for lack of a better word) to see things happen (and with this, a negative sense of the word) to even the best of us. People that seem so strong, relationships that seem so solid. It all seems so alien to me. Because I have such a bad habit of assuming things will work out at the end. There is no how to it, just that it will. Which is not to be mistaken for optimism,

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-33448922163894817292010-01-08T13:11:00.008+08:002010-01-28T00:47:05.514+08:00

I'm sure you've heard by now all the "outrageous" molotov cocktailing a few churches got last night. Sure, you're upset, sure, you're going to find someone to blame, something to talk about, something to be angry at, and some particular government to criticize. You also are going to find it within yourself to say things that are not particularly nice to a certain race, or a certain religion or a

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-86079082957995911282009-12-13T23:41:00.004+08:002010-01-28T00:47:25.916+08:00

I can't help, but want to cry. Tonight I fought really hard to bite back the tears, as I sat there, watching them dance with such confidence and joy. Even though I knew that I should study for clinics, but there was no place I'd rather be. They are indeed, beautiful.And I sat there, watching and thinking. Of the simple things in life that makes it beautiful. So many things that I've taken for

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-51546078782296275582009-12-10T13:58:00.004+08:002010-01-28T00:47:54.994+08:00

A quiet afternoon. Good times. Sitting here holding this book with its stories dating back to 1852. Never fails to make me think of how much difference 150 years can make. Or how 150 fleeting years didn't manage to change most things. This has to be my favourite short story yet, "Mumu" by Ivan Turgenev. I have read this story over and over, and it has never failed (to date) to push my buttons.

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-87581889816262970002009-11-18T00:28:00.005+08:002010-01-28T00:50:07.566+08:00

Like a bulb, your light intoxicates me, like a feeble bug helplessly sucked into the magic that surrounds you. Your heat, vehemently emanated, searing hot yet so gently insulated with your argons and neons, the close to perfect balance that draws me so compellingly yet keeps me far enough so that I might not erupt into a mass of flames. An inch of you throws my gravity into chaos as my universe

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-82167538426894242382009-11-16T00:13:00.003+08:002010-01-28T00:48:19.690+08:00

A lacklustre glass bottle thrown deep into the belly of a vast, turbulent ocean. Up and down, up and down, bobbing away in what appears to be an innate, intimate interaction between the faded gloss of the body and the seemingly overwhelming intensity of the salty sting of the endless waters that seem to envelope it. Like hate, an indescribable force repulsing the water that grips it so tightly

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-64094014844080860392009-10-16T01:07:00.002+08:002010-01-28T00:48:40.881+08:00

Dark wisps of foul smoke rise languidly in the idleness of a silent night. No. It's like a silent chaos beautifully hemmed, occasionally with form, and for a moment, without. Why have I left myself here. Why did I let go. Tonight, I, myself and maybe me, are like a few, erratically merged in a constant flurry of questionable consciousness. Swirling and tumbling in pretty, vivid colours.Winds sway

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-1399273875130952082009-09-19T01:48:00.002+08:002010-01-28T00:50:07.566+08:00

The way the world celebrates the number 21, is beyond my understanding. However much I enjoyed being celebrated, appreciated, loved in an all too touching event, I find myself in a place of staring down a hollowness, wondering who these people are actually celebrating. And as I sat there in the chaos of a decently packed karaoke room, in a corner, reading words of love and encouragement my

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-48993753954618948362009-09-04T10:04:00.002+08:002010-01-28T00:59:40.153+08:00

Something beautiful, something goodAll my confusion, He understoodAll I had to offer Him, was brokeness and strifeBut He made something, beautiful, of my life

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-36897019472114982912009-09-03T03:46:00.005+08:002010-01-28T00:50:07.567+08:00

The back of my hand, adorned with a scarred steel ring. Somehow symbolizes a passing, a transition, or maybe a phase.. once again I find myself in this wilderness.Doesn't it surprise you (everytime) how fast it changes? One minute you're staring at the back of your hand the next, the rough, rugged palm, and then you feel it, searing across your face, the burn of embarrassment and shame, and the

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-460173744703197382009-08-23T23:48:00.003+08:002010-01-28T01:00:37.119+08:00

Unfold. See. What has changed now. Watch the clock faces swirl into a state of erratic chaos. What have you tried to fill now? an empty shoe, maybe two. or was that dry cotton stuffed into a gaping wound. Where are you going to go, what are you going to do. What poison, today?Which face did you see as you lay motionless, succumbing to guilt and anguish. I see you desperately crawling, bloody

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-89050136500912158032009-08-22T03:18:00.003+08:002010-01-28T00:50:07.567+08:00

Envy. I would have given my world to have heard those words. To be loved like her. To be fought for. To be worth fighting for. When all I will always know, and all I will incessantly hear, is this sullen yearn... Deep. Longing. Emptiness. SHAME.I can live with being second, third, fifth, tenth best, or if not good at all.really?This is a tough pill to swallow.almost like repeated stabbing.

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-8262064080428367652009-07-18T21:05:00.003+08:002010-01-28T00:50:07.567+08:00

Little one, you will never know what "enough" is will you? You'd think, that after all this while if you've seen one, you've seen 'em all. And what business do you have, fiddling around with a dream of a hope, a hope of a dream, a dream of losers and a dream of waste.You'd think, a door will have a lock, each lock will have its key, and its key a latch, and a latch that fits. No, seriously. You'd

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23195891.post-17095835408097282512009-07-16T21:09:00.005+08:002010-01-28T00:51:38.687+08:00

And I cannot help but long, looking back at what I had, what I almost had, the friends, the life, the fun that was.. Before I called this place my home. And how I missed those people, how I still desperately cling on to the the dreams we collectively dreamed, a silent hope that time, will lead me back to them. I'm not satisfied with meeting biannually and pretend that we still could be as close

Gervienehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092487431713056645noreply@blogger.com8