New York, New York

“I want to go to New York” I said.
“Oh yeah, have you been there before?” She asked. I shook my head.

“I just feel that my personality belongs there” She raised her eyebrows questioningly.
“I know it sounds stupid” I paused, “But I’ve lived in two countries my whole life and I’m either too much or too much.” It sucks when no one else has the same perspectives as you do. You feel alone with your own thoughts. “A multicultural person” you think, would probably understand you and your humour better. But I’ve met them too.

I feel like New York City is the melting pot of all nationalities, as well as the continents. I feel that issues like religion, cultures, colours are well established in people’s minds. It is good to be able to get beyond the questionmarks and start our conversations from there, superficial or not.
There is only one way to prove my theory. Soon…

E.Y.

a4

I'm so sick of coffee cups and meeting minutes,
8 am's and 4 pm's.

E.Y.

It must come

It must come, right before I sleep, when I lay my head on the pillow. Just before I dose off,a spark from my cell phone...An unknown number with a sweet message, ending with a known name.
It must definitely come, tonight.

E.Y

Badly drawn to the bad boy

We’ve all been there(I mean us girls) at least once, where we’ve been swept off our feet by the bad boy.
He whom is untrustworthy, unpredictable and therefore exciting, does nothing but break hearts for a living. In my opinion, him being introverted and mysterious stems from his inner struggles and unhappiness.
Most probably, he’s broke and smells bad cos he smokes. None of this do we notice as we are blinded.
One thing is for sure, he doesn’t give a damn!


Milo Ventimiglia as the bad boy in Fergie's video.

Say it again.

Say it again,
How you across the ocean, were reminded of me
Every time you listened to the CD I gave you.
How the waves hit your boat and you were
Drawn into a sweet melancholy.

Say it again, but I’m going to ask you to say it again.

E.Y

I walk...

I walk on the ashes of the burnt bridges that have taken
My innocence not fast but slowly,
Growing the eagerness of touching the unreachable.

I walk on the pieces of the broken glass
From the quarrels with my inner self,
Realising that I owe not anyone but myself an apology.

E.Y