La Musique

Friday, February 8, 2008

I like looking at my great-grandmother.

Despite being goodness knows how old, her hair is still silky, as if you were gazing at perfect swirls of white traced randomly with black. I adore white hair. The outline of her bones are clear for all to see, the skin stretched over them. It's like a skeleton that's been laminated.

Yet her memory is even better than mine. Nay, my mind is not fit for comparison. And she talks non-stop. Which is so so cute. Cyrus thinks she stores up all her thoughts for one year, and every year during Chinese New Year, finds some poor victim (usually my father or uncle), to spill everything. And she drinks a cup of wine everyday. Recipe for long lives.

Though why anyone would want to live for so long, I have no idea.

And when she smiles, oh, it's like she means it. I'm attracted to people who don't smile very often. It's a quirk. For I find, when they truly smile, it is so much more endearing, like coming across a treasure so rare, you ignore the diamonds scattered on the roadside.

Like flowers that bloom only at night.

11:21 AM