Pretty Leaves.

I love fall.

It has got to be the saddest but most elegant season of all.

I'm starting to like lonely lunch ventures.
They give me pretty pictures and better marks.

Note to self: Never again buy Sushi from TEL.
They used to make the sushi at the store,
But now they have prepackaged sushi,
And I thought I was eating crab,
But when I looked at the ingredients,
It was imitation crab meat with artificial crab flavouring
What the fuck?

Lines to live by:

Expect nothing from others and you'll never be disappointed.

Women Without Men.

I wish I had gone to see this movie at the festival. I guess I'll have to wait for the DVD now. Can't wait.

The Things the Mind Forgets.

I've realized that my blog entries are nothing like my diary entries of the past.

Today, I was helping clean our ridiculous basement of 10 years worth of crap, when I came across two of my old diaries. One from before I moved to Canada, in grade 4 and 5, and the other from grade 5 onward. I used to be a really loyal diary writer. I mean... at times I wrote almost everyday. My blogs though... just don't feel the same. My entries are usually very half-assed or don't have anything to do with my daily routines.

I always thought it'd be boring to write about the mundane activities of my days in this blog, but now, after reading over my childhood diaries, I see the value in that. There are so many important little things that our mind forgets. It scares me. I want to remember the details of my life.

I want to remember that I had a friend named Sayeh in Iran who wrote me poetry and told me she'd miss me when I left. I wanna remember the way I wrote to my diary as if it were a living, breathing person. I want to remember who I was, and I want to leave something behind for the future me to stumble upon one day, amidst all the dust bunnies and spiderwebs.

Exhausted.

I'm not ready for another year of insanity.

Today.

Love is beautiful.

Don't look back.

When we finally decide it's over, we sit in the car as it runs idle. Eventually, you turn off the car, and we sit there, both silent. "I guess this is for the best," you say. "Yeah, sure."

You ask if you can have a kiss, and I kiss you. You always liked the longer kisses. But when I try to kiss you again, you look away.

"Ok. That's all I guess," I say. I sound like I've lost my voice.

I get out of the car, closing the door, and walk away. I look back a few times to see if your car follows me for you to wave goodbye, the same way you have all summer when you drop me off.

I look back, and each time, you're parked there in the same spot, not moving.