snow

Is there something I should know?
Something you won't tell me?
I can see it in your eyes,
There's nothing left for you to hide, my love.
Is there somewhere we can go?
Somewhere that we could speak?
If there is time, could we still find,
Piece of mind, some kind of love, my love?
But if you stay,
I know I'd throw it all away,
And if you go,
I know I'll find my way back home.
You say I give it all away,
Leave nothing to imagination,
Well it's all I know, although I know,
You don't want everything, my love.
But if you stay,
I know I'd throw it all away,
And if you go,
I know I'd find my way back home.
Stay,
Stay,
If you go,
If you go.
Is there something I should know?
Is there something I should know?
Is there something I should know, my love?

"there's just so much that I could."

树叶

冬天的降临，树叶也枯萎，纷纷落地。

满地的枯叶渐渐的被白哝哝的白雪遮盖了。

只见一片无边无际的白景。

树叶就这样被大家遗忘了，

直到春天的来临，他再重生。

他说：“冷落了，酸了，哭了，就算了，因为自己是勿忘的。”

wake up in new york by Craig Armstrong ft Evan Dando

you chase my blues away... everyday

She's just so good.

"Torn"

Finalized this for a 1 min short. If you read my older post, manage to materialize what I wrote.

Fête Film Shorts presented by OBJECTIFS films

Date: 17th March 2009
Time: 7pm
Venue: WKWSCI Lee Foundation LT
Free admission
*light refreshment and beer

the world as we perceived

We can't control what we forget, we choose to forget to remember. 

Because in trying to forget, we are constantly being reminded of what we want to forget and in the end, will we really forget?

If betrayal is an extremism form of love, in the eyes of what we perceived as love, what is love? and so is forgiveness love or in itself, its betrayal?

We talk about judgement so who are we to judge, as an individual? as ourselves being a weighing scale of our internal moral values? or we take on an external persona that we think we are equivalent to judge?

The world might not be what we think it is. There's much more we have to learn. 

Torn

She walked right up to him, the scent of her long black hair whisked past him. His attention was on her.

She: I found the love letter.

He: Really?

She: It's sweet.

He: All right.

She: I can't figure it out.

He: What?

She: That coldness in you.

He: I wished you could feel my warmth.

She: I cannot imagine that warmth, the warmth that doesn't penetrate me.

He: That beautiful face of yours, the flawless skin, your arousing scent and the distinct neckline to your cleavage. I wished our lips could meet.

She: We could.

He: Repulse me, I can't.

She: Why?

He: I love you.

She: I love you.