Weekdays feel like a certain time that I have to pass in order to get to the weekends. Is this the part where people say ‘I live for the weekends’?I do feel a sense of enlightenment…
I think it is funny how time works — at times. How our situations determine the passage of time, categorizing it into either ‘fast’ or ‘slow’ paced. How when you are in love, time seems to be at an unfathomable speed. How when you are in love, you tend to think of the end of a relationship even before it begins. And maybe before you know it, it is over.
I have forgotten how it feels though, to be in love. At the tip of my fingers I could probably describe vaguely the various feelings that seem to punch at your stomach, and perhaps your heart (all in a good way). But to describe what it would feel to have another hand holding yours as you memorize how it fits perfectly into yours like a mold, how the textures of another person’s hand seem to tell a story of their own, and how that simple act of holding hands feels a lot more like securing a future together because of that clasp? I am writing from memory.
Someone once told me ‘your hands, they feel dry’. At that moment it felt embarrassing. How it should not be the case for a girl because you know, moisturizes do exist. But thinking back, there was someone out there who took note of how my hand felt in his.
How they weave into one another.
And writing? How fiction/non-fiction can be plucked from either time, love or memory.