Neruda et al.

there are writers that affect me the same way house music does.

as if a sudden jolt of purple energy pinches me somewhere behind my neck, twitching inside me, a jagged surge of electric euphoria that curls, curling its way inside me, leaving my lungs dry and my eyes closed.

sort of like, you know, love.

making we want to hug and talk to poles, laugh at reflections, jump, and most of all, be very, very cheesy.

apparently this also happens even while i'm walking and especially when on the MRT.
apparently.

fun fun.