Love's Secret
by William Blake

Never seek to tell thy love,
Love that never told can be;
For the gentle wind does move
Silently, invisibly.

I told my love, I told my love,
I told her all my heart;
Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears,
Ah! she did depart!

Soon as she was gone from me,
A traveller came by,
Silently, invisibly
He took her with a sigh.


dear mr. blake,

thank you for your advice. i have felt your fear, i must say, trembling and cold. but i do have something to ask, though. or an intervention, if you please.

what of love that is being, never told? or love that has been half-told? what of love that has been told and misconstrued?

what of me, now that i have told my love? would there be a departure? would i have to be shrouded in this traveller's garb if i have to take someone with a sigh, silently, invisibly.

in anticipation,


verb: to do

make me.

you make me

you make me want
to do



"you and i, we're collectors. we have more books than we've read, more songs than we listen to."

m said.


Some things are inextricable from the memories they carry. A song, a book, a phrase from a something you've read, a pair of jeans, corners of streets, photographs - there are moments within these that tug at moments gone by, sometimes so powerfully, that one smiles or cringes at them whenever they come by.


"sometimes i need new music. what do you do when you want something empty of memory, emotion and nostalgia? you need songs you don't associate with anything, no?"
i said.

although, i have a feeling she didn't quite understand it.



or potatoes, if you please, are simply the most annoying consequence of colonisation.


sometimes, i suddenly stop everything i'm doing in a memory of you. it is your kiss i remember, strong, passionate, gentle. the way your tongue would know my mouth, the way your arms would hold me up. i close my eyes, and turn away, smiling. in this memory, i open my eyes, and watch your hands flick the hair off your face as you laugh. in this moment, i feel my love for you, lingering, like a night's farewell. and then, just as suddenly, your cunning stings me, i remember your malice, and the kiss fades. the moment passes.


chick music

s'pose i never ever saw you
s'pose you never ever called

s'pose i kept on singing love songs
just to break my own fall

-fidelity, regina spektor.


(always one foot on the ground.)


all i want


1. to curl up into a blanket
2. a cup of hot, steaming cocoa.
3. preferably with marshmallows.
4. to re-read colour of magic. and mort.

1. to sleep.
2. till i can't sleep anymore.
3. to wake up and loll in bed.
4. preferably with a murakami.

1. to take a train.
2. a long, long journey. to hyderabad, may be.
3. amitav ghosh.
4. who i've always wanted to read on a train.


"... in our house books are neither furnishings nor badges of learning; they are debris. Officially we have two libraries, which are defined as places where you store your old books while your new books pile up beside the bed."

-Terry Pratchett.