tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28302112596426755952024-03-05T12:29:03.817-08:00I am the Wingsඅමා http://www.blogger.com/profile/02038623450725430044noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2830211259642675595.post-58748789688065534392013-05-24T04:27:00.001-07:002013-05-24T04:27:23.731-07:00Winter is not coming<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4iilpIvbLdvch_RSKF6h6Hxei65eEyeHBjne3octu_zOw6QFN0E9l0IAwYZoGhdqjlLatqQbt1C4FPVwD-wql4EgEAf05vI_OB6ds4laFlr0BL6w9MRHDnIjgb3vmQIZvE7ZheFjxXWI/s1600/winterisnot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4iilpIvbLdvch_RSKF6h6Hxei65eEyeHBjne3octu_zOw6QFN0E9l0IAwYZoGhdqjlLatqQbt1C4FPVwD-wql4EgEAf05vI_OB6ds4laFlr0BL6w9MRHDnIjgb3vmQIZvE7ZheFjxXWI/s320/winterisnot.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
The trees are mourning their leaves. A cold dry wind whispers in my ear. The skies are grey and mirthless.<br />
<br />
Yet try as it might, winter cannot get into my heart.<br />
<br />
Not now.<br />
<br />
Because every time it tries, I close my eyes and remember the first time we kissed. <br />
<br />
:)<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
අමා http://www.blogger.com/profile/02038623450725430044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2830211259642675595.post-41063971087234574502012-04-01T11:26:00.003-07:002012-04-03T01:48:11.411-07:00Based on what I saw at the canteen...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0oJOU6oYbHDh_OBTdU-IIwgQiJC7frvd4pBuKLS3eLBds9YJ217dZ9DYONkdrwWJA9rk7JFwKjahPtT6OPdJlfGWGhE44d7-D2XO_k54jsg1dOHZyAfQt5JP93ccb6M6D-DpMzOwsLWs/s1600/love_in_the_air36-550x412.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0oJOU6oYbHDh_OBTdU-IIwgQiJC7frvd4pBuKLS3eLBds9YJ217dZ9DYONkdrwWJA9rk7JFwKjahPtT6OPdJlfGWGhE44d7-D2XO_k54jsg1dOHZyAfQt5JP93ccb6M6D-DpMzOwsLWs/s320/love_in_the_air36-550x412.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5727093546260352722" border="0" /></a><br />WARNING: this is going to be a fairly nonsense post. So dear reader, brace yourselves.<br /><br />To the guy sitting in front of me at the excellent stage performance of Sinhabahu tonight, this one is for you :D<br /><br /><br /><br />Needless to say, regardless of the outstanding performance by the cast, I did miss random parts here and there. Well I couldnt help it. You really do have awesome hair. I couldnt resist staring at it. The mere thought that I will in all probability, never see that fabulous hair residing on a certain tall figure, fills me with despair (gee that almost rhymed).<br /><br />By the way, I never did catch what outlandish theory you (or your brother, who ever said it Im not too sure) arrived at, based on what you saw at the canteen. I wish I did.අමා http://www.blogger.com/profile/02038623450725430044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2830211259642675595.post-40410841491300973272012-03-10T06:14:00.009-08:002012-03-10T06:54:08.731-08:00Let me feel how thy pulses beat ~ Like? Lust? Love?It has been a long time since I last felt like this. That feeling of euphoria on the brink of eruption.<br /><br />Have you ever slipped on something and fallen? That's sort of how I feel now; that moment just before the fall. The moment you realize that you're going to fall - and you instinctively grab at something - anything in your reach, in a futile effort to stay upright.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIosEN7I2iWPKU5k3SKBaIUzzTvR0Yv8xac8aP7H67tWeF7eYnnHriwn1Ma4FBxbE5KpADqTceA-eCvOhxHP4vgIsnb3-CowrvjztYe3qPlJMyEA83x_BvrIvBOfy7jQlEmkrj-liIU-E/s1600/Like-Lust-Love+%252B+www.frostymind.blogspot.com.png"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIosEN7I2iWPKU5k3SKBaIUzzTvR0Yv8xac8aP7H67tWeF7eYnnHriwn1Ma4FBxbE5KpADqTceA-eCvOhxHP4vgIsnb3-CowrvjztYe3qPlJMyEA83x_BvrIvBOfy7jQlEmkrj-liIU-E/s320/Like-Lust-Love+%252B+www.frostymind.blogspot.com.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718281123276191090" border="0" /></a><br />I have known him for some time. So why now? Why do I suddenly feel this attraction to him? Strange.<br />This sudden attraction for a long time friend - this is dangerous.<br />This has only happened once before, and <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> proved to be a complete disaster.<br /><br /><br /><br />His smile has the power to make me go all gooey and mushy and... so...well - <span style="font-style: italic;">happy</span>. I do not like this; this feeling that he now holds such power over me. Because, if he can make me the happiest girl on the planet, then he can - and he<span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span><span style="font-style: italic;">will</span> - make me the saddest, most pathetic girl in the entire universe as well.<br />You see, it's only a matter of time.<br /><br />I do not want to be sad again.<br />I do not want my heart to be broken - again - to thousand little pieces.<br /><br />And thats not all.<br />What about me? How can I be sure of what he's feeling, when I'm not even sure of what I'm feeling right now? Is it all just some pheromones? Some kind of chemical reaction in our brains, fueling an instinctive biological need?<br /><br />I hate feeling conflicted.අමා http://www.blogger.com/profile/02038623450725430044noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2830211259642675595.post-1900044930008132012011-11-04T23:21:00.000-07:002011-11-05T04:24:48.489-07:00Sunlight in my eyes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFro0hnz3nZRtewCepuB3cDpKQf_QY1o5JPy6M2BTlS8HTUAnS3UWKbxHGZNAdEbw2fRsrpvReISxHqHWgOGs3McI_FndRE7t6x3B1HmbeSaU7-GQVNejf3zuMPD2rnPJOhgw8AUMpr1E/s1600/eyes.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 215px; height: 184px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFro0hnz3nZRtewCepuB3cDpKQf_QY1o5JPy6M2BTlS8HTUAnS3UWKbxHGZNAdEbw2fRsrpvReISxHqHWgOGs3McI_FndRE7t6x3B1HmbeSaU7-GQVNejf3zuMPD2rnPJOhgw8AUMpr1E/s320/eyes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671470147343919170" border="0" /></a><br />It is not easy being a witch.<br />Of course, I realize what a cliche that sounds like. Sure, witches are not burnt on the stake now. And in this age of Harry Potter, people actually think witchcraft is cool.<br />Ah how disillusioned they would be if only they'd dare to see.<br />You ask me, what does it mean to be a witch? To be a witch is to be completely aware. You'd see things in complete clarity, and sometimes this is not such a comfortable feeling.<br /><br />Imagine running on the beach on a summer day, with all the might of the sun glaring down on you. If you're a normal person, you'd be a fool to do that without sunnies and sunscreen. If you're a witch, well sunscreen and sunnies just don't work on you honey.<br /><br />That's what its like.<br /><br />And that's why so few witches survive.අමා http://www.blogger.com/profile/02038623450725430044noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2830211259642675595.post-26165591573809874132011-11-03T06:04:00.001-07:002011-11-05T04:23:49.964-07:00Magic is not about Spells<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhazGzprHO13PyvCQ5z11uqmZFV-v401Pgc5HqTDzaI8oL0LdMmEkYucBsjM1wQBJAyR2kLZy3kL9cQg0JlpOxILxl5kIReeIyizFBEF4aOqYsVtPU6Yj0ydWgPKe9FEKPq_ZyrQre7vA/s1600/magic.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhazGzprHO13PyvCQ5z11uqmZFV-v401Pgc5HqTDzaI8oL0LdMmEkYucBsjM1wQBJAyR2kLZy3kL9cQg0JlpOxILxl5kIReeIyizFBEF4aOqYsVtPU6Yj0ydWgPKe9FEKPq_ZyrQre7vA/s320/magic.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670760692328561698" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Somethings you just have to know - not in your heart - in your gut.<br />Haha the overrated human heart!<br />The heart is fickle, as the old woman used to tell me. The heart can be willful, passionate, beautiful and sometimes powerful. But honest it is not.<br />No. For honesty you trust your gut feeling.<br /><br />One day I asked the old woman to teach me a spell.<br />She said "You silly child...teach a spell? No one can teach that!"<br />"But..." I persisted. "You said I can do magic. I want to learn how"<br />She laughed. Then she gave me the greatest lesson of all.<br />"You want to learn something that you already know? A rose to me is a jasmine to you. Trust your guts - and it will find you... Magic is not about spells."<br /><br />So it is not.අමා http://www.blogger.com/profile/02038623450725430044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2830211259642675595.post-67370064163982756212010-11-06T00:57:00.000-07:002010-11-06T01:15:16.385-07:0030 Days of Truth - Day 01 - Hate<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3bUxo1rmP0erZFDrpRVC96jVMbL0EkuQFTxHkDaMPjrraxfkqhn79q3_Twt7kqiVJUw9YHIAIe28KvACXaO5gYPFkyzwvnhEFPcWykX5BgJbGSWqHhhKktr3NPQERSF9fvjnj-nabZMc/s1600/simona1ps8.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 226px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3bUxo1rmP0erZFDrpRVC96jVMbL0EkuQFTxHkDaMPjrraxfkqhn79q3_Twt7kqiVJUw9YHIAIe28KvACXaO5gYPFkyzwvnhEFPcWykX5BgJbGSWqHhhKktr3NPQERSF9fvjnj-nabZMc/s320/simona1ps8.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536347241969081234" /></a><br /><br /><br />Day 01 is Something I hate about myself...<br /><br />Certainly there are more than one. But I am only allowed one thing in 30 days. So let's see...<br /><br />I hate it that I never know how to express myself.<br />Yes that's it. So often I let people misunderstand. Even the people I love. The people I was/am in love with. My friends. My family. Everyone. Just about the whole fucking world actually. <br /><br />How do you get your point across without making a scene? In any case, making a scene never does get the point across does it? How do I stop my emotions get ahead of me when I want to make someone understand? I want to let my feelings show without making it seem too obvious or too intense...because I do feel things so intensely. If people knew how intense I feel I'm afraid they'd think I'm a freakshow. So over the years I'd cover it all up - and I got so good at it that I hide all the good stuff too - so that people see me as a detached robotic person. Ice princess is what someone called me. If only they knew that underneath the frozen exterior lies a desperate heart ready to melt.<br /><br />And I hate all that. I wish I was normal. Like other people. Like people who can express their feelings so freely without fear of ridicule or sympathy. But I don't know how. And that's what I hate. So much. About me.අමා http://www.blogger.com/profile/02038623450725430044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2830211259642675595.post-83543286386849844952010-10-03T05:07:00.000-07:002010-10-03T05:19:47.850-07:00Sicko<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_0kQ5e3JWKVVJoI9i8BwYpJiJrkjV_ZbKx2wr3iZzUm7nHcQGkBEyi0ysZi08sMbg-8prxKOLl1YtUhrXmrYFkqpKjKetBX2lCXHpXEOlseCJJwWpvH_8SIhlWpj9vY-cCLWXpjbTfz0/s1600/26092010212_1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 270px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_0kQ5e3JWKVVJoI9i8BwYpJiJrkjV_ZbKx2wr3iZzUm7nHcQGkBEyi0ysZi08sMbg-8prxKOLl1YtUhrXmrYFkqpKjKetBX2lCXHpXEOlseCJJwWpvH_8SIhlWpj9vY-cCLWXpjbTfz0/s320/26092010212_1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523793298212089250" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">You make me sick</span><br />you tell me.<br />I stare at you then, shocked.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I am sick with love for you</span>, you say<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">My heart stops each time I look at you</span><br />I smile, my eyes locked in to you<br />So, I say<br />now I am a disease.<br />A virus.<br />You reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Yes. a disease is what you are<br />But I never want to be cured.</span><br />I stand tip toe and pull your face to mine.අමා http://www.blogger.com/profile/02038623450725430044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2830211259642675595.post-37425662269032320952010-09-04T00:20:00.000-07:002010-09-04T00:37:30.077-07:00Apology<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDAUAA6RNq2BbkhisrnIaWEgQ1qkyRIX-YvYFTPFgjGv3MeJHgvlGJaeQpSrCinR_DfoVl2pQaPkjREz0XxL9nM0P0tr4RrZ_PvfjorSmjwhOgKaCrW1pFcqEGDWXp95uvBSmK8U_c4Yc/s1600/love_triangle-7542.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDAUAA6RNq2BbkhisrnIaWEgQ1qkyRIX-YvYFTPFgjGv3MeJHgvlGJaeQpSrCinR_DfoVl2pQaPkjREz0XxL9nM0P0tr4RrZ_PvfjorSmjwhOgKaCrW1pFcqEGDWXp95uvBSmK8U_c4Yc/s320/love_triangle-7542.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512959121154264322" /></a><br /><br /><br />Please do not offer me<br />your heart<br />And please do not ask for mine<br />either.<br />For my heart is not mine to give anymore.<br /><br />My heart will always beat for Him and Him alone.<br />Even if you were a saint<br />and He was the devil himself.<br /><br />I am sorry.අමා http://www.blogger.com/profile/02038623450725430044noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2830211259642675595.post-90805109640322854712010-08-28T04:41:00.000-07:002010-08-28T08:21:23.645-07:00Switched off<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5463KpR5GTu-HSlJ9lVEB-UoziBQPT0L9Kwcyc4q8zWfoGppML5-OULlrdCAQhntgm3A9oJEJ-aVVkOttE5eSJLSenKWmDSNHgmGrUbNzRRyFizRwahnQL3d8rebndsVRm-SQRKZRKHM/s1600/collage.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5463KpR5GTu-HSlJ9lVEB-UoziBQPT0L9Kwcyc4q8zWfoGppML5-OULlrdCAQhntgm3A9oJEJ-aVVkOttE5eSJLSenKWmDSNHgmGrUbNzRRyFizRwahnQL3d8rebndsVRm-SQRKZRKHM/s320/collage.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510481113454565970" /></a><br /><br /><br />She closes her eyes, her mind reeling with sights and sounds from the past. <br /><br />Icy wind playing with a mop of wavy black hair on one winter morn<br />An unexpected question that was whispered almost shyly<br />A yellow petal slowly floating down in the morning breeze<br />A kiss that was not quite a kiss<br />A chance meeting of eyes<br />Uproarious laughter <br />Ice cream dripping<br />A soft touch<br />A guitar<br />A smile<br /><br /><br />Days that were so long ago. Memories buried but not quite abandoned. Lost hope. Lost love. Lost youth.<br /><br />She feels her heart crack again. Must her heart torture her so? She does not want all those sleepless nights again. Does not want to begin seeing a certain pale face everywhere again. <br /><br />She swallows. The radio is still playing that song. That's what started all this.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />Since you came into my life<br />The days before all fade to black and white<br />Since you came into my life<br />Everything has changed</span><br /><br />Biting her lip, she leans forward reaching for the radio- waiting - savouring one last memory.<br /><br />And then<br />she switches it off. Dead. Just like her heart.අමා http://www.blogger.com/profile/02038623450725430044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2830211259642675595.post-20603030294832439162010-08-17T04:17:00.000-07:002010-08-17T05:10:03.334-07:00Last chance for Love<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJZoADUSe_WHtaxwN-qcI2b2ta3vP__A7-HTTvPPGBqxVZKAaAbLK9YpHa1wZ_1kLAABaMuca3wtoYd49He32uC8ScuNa3e22huMNP0-RTtDxnCXmufa8na9P1l4mNCoa33LL6UbLtb5o/s1600/Gothic-Girl-with-Sword-1.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJZoADUSe_WHtaxwN-qcI2b2ta3vP__A7-HTTvPPGBqxVZKAaAbLK9YpHa1wZ_1kLAABaMuca3wtoYd49He32uC8ScuNa3e22huMNP0-RTtDxnCXmufa8na9P1l4mNCoa33LL6UbLtb5o/s320/Gothic-Girl-with-Sword-1.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506349866118764930" /></a><br />No more fighting for me<br />my beloved enemy.<br /><br />No more battles will I fight<br />With my heart as my shield<br />for it is dented and cracked.<br /><br />Never again shall I strike<br />that deadly gaze<br />for my eyes become blurry<br />with tears.<br /><br />Never again but this one last time,<br />as I go all in<br />for my final gamble.අමා http://www.blogger.com/profile/02038623450725430044noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2830211259642675595.post-43232095844294857002010-08-14T02:57:00.000-07:002010-08-14T03:12:07.677-07:00Kiss<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8CpyF91pYsqL0kRpOlryeSYWlvN3WF7ZSoS3pzWBCnu9ZzDFO9wxm-WV23aPIGxHX9UMOXcpGlODG1ZNTjHUJsjojTg4VufNnlhGWZt8KHhlXFxdnyMlJSrNPR6XiHiODl5AyU5OiPaU/s1600/wakeMeWithKiss.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8CpyF91pYsqL0kRpOlryeSYWlvN3WF7ZSoS3pzWBCnu9ZzDFO9wxm-WV23aPIGxHX9UMOXcpGlODG1ZNTjHUJsjojTg4VufNnlhGWZt8KHhlXFxdnyMlJSrNPR6XiHiODl5AyU5OiPaU/s320/wakeMeWithKiss.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505206140096822898" /></a><br /><br /><br />I keep thinking what it would be like to kiss you. <br /><br />I know that most people tilt their head to the right - but I tilt to the left. Will you? Right or left? Perhaps being left handed, you would tilt to the left. Finally a match!<br /><br />Lower lip or upper lip?<br /><br />Will you taste like chocolate? or wine?<br />or mint for that matter?<br />or - horror of horrors - nicotine?<br /><br />And what will I taste like to you?අමා http://www.blogger.com/profile/02038623450725430044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2830211259642675595.post-11570396924472225862010-08-07T22:36:00.000-07:002010-08-08T06:13:31.587-07:00Stop!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCiIocwKWOa7H2bF-W80H3ehyGEDB0UsTtuLwHt2pvo8kRgOObc3gA7pk8zsdWcacIUZXgXNce4SFppn0NQTSOaBwDr5EAon_2-K2Hj46yQtlZ4qW3hA6Dq7vdrIW7Y7_l7KQus04Emdc/s1600/furieslife.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 85px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCiIocwKWOa7H2bF-W80H3ehyGEDB0UsTtuLwHt2pvo8kRgOObc3gA7pk8zsdWcacIUZXgXNce4SFppn0NQTSOaBwDr5EAon_2-K2Hj46yQtlZ4qW3hA6Dq7vdrIW7Y7_l7KQus04Emdc/s320/furieslife.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503026451647151842" /></a><br />Stop smiling with me<br />like that please<br />Don't tell me how beautiful<br />I look everyday<br />And those flying kisses of yours<br />across the hallway?<br />Bad idea.<br />Oh and NO you are not allowed<br />to play with my hair.<br /><br />You can't stop thinking about me?<br />I am your fondest wish?<br />Yes yes, I've heard it all.<br /><br />Just<br />don't.<br /><br />Unless you mean it...අමා http://www.blogger.com/profile/02038623450725430044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2830211259642675595.post-5515169963588939642010-06-26T03:39:00.000-07:002010-08-08T06:15:30.144-07:00Beautiful in your eyes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwsLNc8pAHmTq-wpPKkF-LYRlZTLv9UjNuCQCBWCmSTkDwYdzhXbDTR4wVt1gZ8bNvn4VsL9sVytRsaIwhiI5GHPNWrGsKeZp4sZVX2Qy-qJCOaH0m7mjLAsySrrD25emIAjl9RN4H6pQ/s1600/love_eyes.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwsLNc8pAHmTq-wpPKkF-LYRlZTLv9UjNuCQCBWCmSTkDwYdzhXbDTR4wVt1gZ8bNvn4VsL9sVytRsaIwhiI5GHPNWrGsKeZp4sZVX2Qy-qJCOaH0m7mjLAsySrrD25emIAjl9RN4H6pQ/s320/love_eyes.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503026952679834290" /></a><br />You ask me how come<br />I get so beautiful each day<br />I smile<br />I do not know<br /><br />Maybe you are slowly falling<br />in love<br />with me<br />Or maybe I am slowly falling<br />in love<br />with you<br />Or<br />maybe its both :)අමා http://www.blogger.com/profile/02038623450725430044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2830211259642675595.post-48413662132734197762010-05-29T17:21:00.000-07:002010-08-08T06:22:24.061-07:00වියෝගය<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimqUEgTIO4qad8Gv2bZz5kMh8gICSKiWLudGDhej_2XfgXQr4ajogVe77ehI4KWy4BSeqECHvsoTkYhMQyHUIkHb7uQQKL8E0Aap9DqwNUmsUi4PMcW_Gs7jHFgXpOs_SnjgB-BAiPoqw/s1600/emo1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 201px; height: 251px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimqUEgTIO4qad8Gv2bZz5kMh8gICSKiWLudGDhej_2XfgXQr4ajogVe77ehI4KWy4BSeqECHvsoTkYhMQyHUIkHb7uQQKL8E0Aap9DqwNUmsUi4PMcW_Gs7jHFgXpOs_SnjgB-BAiPoqw/s320/emo1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503028748187800306" /></a><br />සිහිනේ ඔබ සිටියා<br />රන් රුවක් සේ<br />මා හා සිනාසෙමින්<br />පුන් සඳක් සේ<br /><br />සැඩ සුළඟට අසුවූ සේ<br />නිවී ගිහින් ඒ සිනා පහන් ටැඹ<br />දිවි මග පෙන්වූ සඳ කැන් නැත අද<br />මං මුළා වී මා මේ පාළු සසරේ<br /><br />ඔබ ගිය තැන මට<br />යන්නට නොහැකී<br />මා සිටිනා දෙස<br />ඔබ හට එන්නට නොහැකී<br /><br />අතීතයේ සිහිනේ මා කිමිදෙමි<br />ඔබේ රුව දැක සැනසෙමි<br />මල් දෙවැට අද්දර ඔබ මා අමතන දින<br />ඒ මල් යායේ හමුවෙමු පෙම්වතඅමා http://www.blogger.com/profile/02038623450725430044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2830211259642675595.post-70321954459137577942010-05-21T20:41:00.000-07:002010-08-08T06:27:36.525-07:00Hurry back to me<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcuGFOYR4ASQgoQSns5lY4Y1RGSq2_XKk3G3OFTPjXilRWmMcPsovc9zPvtrJlf947K0t8n84fef1RvU3TbkyWoDpg_IFAwpau4KXdRj1tkLdfYAi4jS0mKolT9YKr88TsVElx2ogjtX8/s1600/missu.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 227px; height: 164px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcuGFOYR4ASQgoQSns5lY4Y1RGSq2_XKk3G3OFTPjXilRWmMcPsovc9zPvtrJlf947K0t8n84fef1RvU3TbkyWoDpg_IFAwpau4KXdRj1tkLdfYAi4jS0mKolT9YKr88TsVElx2ogjtX8/s320/missu.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503030095415015810" /></a><br />Missing you in the cold mornings when I feel like crawling under the quilt forever...<br />Missing you just after a hot shower, not having you wrap me in a soft towel and hug me to keep me warm...<br />Missing you getting pissed at me for distracting you from your work...<br />Missing you playing the guitar in the evenings...<br />Missing you complaining that you have lost your glasses again...<br />Missing your boyish sweet sweet smile...<br /><br />Miss you so much!<br /><br />Hurry back to me.අමා http://www.blogger.com/profile/02038623450725430044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2830211259642675595.post-663020204264542052010-05-15T10:14:00.000-07:002010-08-08T06:38:00.207-07:00Demi God<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzIWqiNPJX6aT-nbKq6_IBImMuMsIwGTSHxGitUdMcNeBZM5X7PRXbFbUSzQONQwnhyphenhyphenudc7PJp-dsbFakjrPw1B1VCdwwvb9yTEVrn3rQSAEUk2IAxy4FsY1sCU9TFi7p5H4tGgvxIgyk/s1600/adore.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 275px; height: 183px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzIWqiNPJX6aT-nbKq6_IBImMuMsIwGTSHxGitUdMcNeBZM5X7PRXbFbUSzQONQwnhyphenhyphenudc7PJp-dsbFakjrPw1B1VCdwwvb9yTEVrn3rQSAEUk2IAxy4FsY1sCU9TFi7p5H4tGgvxIgyk/s320/adore.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503032758683875122" /></a><br />Bask in my adoration<br />standing straight and true<br />on my pedestal of faith<br /><br />Accept my steady beating heart<br />that organ of eternal fire<br />And know that it <br />beats for you<br />and you aloneඅමා http://www.blogger.com/profile/02038623450725430044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2830211259642675595.post-89304182971926192792010-05-09T03:05:00.000-07:002010-08-08T06:50:54.639-07:00You and Me<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxk5KNW2h94OkVyNzxksIsHsSPA66zo2Oq5VEgU085vOmTzEN3dVu1C_n-9BIo00l8URLNp3KLn_s2wgeLBGMV3hoZBru5ZoM7feKrJ_AvMq4knoP-qhVnV6Q4Em0dfHsxytBwXhRz52c/s1600/k.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 207px; height: 243px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxk5KNW2h94OkVyNzxksIsHsSPA66zo2Oq5VEgU085vOmTzEN3dVu1C_n-9BIo00l8URLNp3KLn_s2wgeLBGMV3hoZBru5ZoM7feKrJ_AvMq4knoP-qhVnV6Q4Em0dfHsxytBwXhRz52c/s320/k.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503036063533023042" /></a><br />We do make an interesting couple don't we? (if I may say so myself! hah)<br />Your palm on mine fits so perfectly - as if we were made from the same mold. Maybe we are. Laugh all you want you cynical unbelieving adorable handsome atheist you! The incorrigible romantic in me will always believe in fate. Ka like a wind you would say. Yet you my dear are no gunslinger and I am glad. You are mine and mine alone. <br /><br />Outside its raining and I want to run and feel the rain drops on my skin. Like you touching me. Giving me little shivers. I will run back into the house and wrap myself in a towel. Warm like your arms around me. Skin to skin and breath to breath. My fingers tangled in your wavy hair and your lips at my ear. Whispering promises that I know you mean to keep. But will you be able to darling? I care not for that - for I know you mean true.අමා http://www.blogger.com/profile/02038623450725430044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2830211259642675595.post-10696708171335474212009-07-19T05:02:00.000-07:002009-07-19T05:15:37.343-07:00I weep for Narcissus<span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">"I weep for Narcissus, but I never noticed that Narcissus was beautiful. I weep because, each time he knelt beside my banks, I could see, in the depths of his eyes, my own beauty reflected."</span></span> -- <span style="font-weight:bold;">The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho</span><br /><br />Did I see me when I saw you?<br />When I thought you're eyes were smiling,<br />Were they really?<br />Or was it simply that you thought the same<br />about mine?<br />Did we ever see each other<br />when we thought we did?<br />Will I ever know who you really are,<br />Will I ever see all that I truly need to see?අමා http://www.blogger.com/profile/02038623450725430044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2830211259642675595.post-29972304903289872372009-07-12T07:37:00.000-07:002009-07-12T07:50:29.762-07:00Rehani does it again! Plagiarism galore!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiejqjKVjx-Oc_CrTdg9RgtRwr_svnY39pl8k5BTF1L6z19m8yr9vh4RS2h1bllPKDg8mW0FWg0AxOsN_UyOunvM4u8e4eMDTISLOrVluXAEczKUfYUyAR-8r687iig0f8-i4J9Fx5gzKg/s1600-h/rehani3.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiejqjKVjx-Oc_CrTdg9RgtRwr_svnY39pl8k5BTF1L6z19m8yr9vh4RS2h1bllPKDg8mW0FWg0AxOsN_UyOunvM4u8e4eMDTISLOrVluXAEczKUfYUyAR-8r687iig0f8-i4J9Fx5gzKg/s320/rehani3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357584721180352930" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ-GzzvGREI-1AUSkOe_BEwdK8C4rkwnJGjZKe1-IboE3OU5IHhthiNS-796ZvGhoQxiWGdkZdUixI8PEVIoKCQIFB52Yp6EUBIZLBpjjSun6BM2E736AGqUUdTINxKcWRbBe89ULejK4/s1600-h/rehani2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ-GzzvGREI-1AUSkOe_BEwdK8C4rkwnJGjZKe1-IboE3OU5IHhthiNS-796ZvGhoQxiWGdkZdUixI8PEVIoKCQIFB52Yp6EUBIZLBpjjSun6BM2E736AGqUUdTINxKcWRbBe89ULejK4/s320/rehani2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357584724723531618" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPH2k30rVYpbMweZBE9AyOi9Vn6SPMhwuInElhHThuszeVfpancl7TAaeQbnI7GftjqmHSvg0f0V5by7NCbykoNhHH0h3iwugDkncaZ4eEfUrsqYKXDirsq9CXh9Z9GZc8liHxgU8Nxfw/s1600-h/reh.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPH2k30rVYpbMweZBE9AyOi9Vn6SPMhwuInElhHThuszeVfpancl7TAaeQbnI7GftjqmHSvg0f0V5by7NCbykoNhHH0h3iwugDkncaZ4eEfUrsqYKXDirsq9CXh9Z9GZc8liHxgU8Nxfw/s320/reh.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357584720658322738" /></a><br /><br />Way to go girl! You have successfully done another copy-paste from another blog ! - again! and again, you have not acknowledged your sources.<br /><br />This time, her source is this <a href="http://ultraviolet.in/2009/06/15/no-sex-education-for-us-were-indian/">indian blog : http://ultraviolet.in/2009/06/15/no-sex-education-for-us-were-indian/.</a><br /><br />Oh and by the way since Rehani will no doubt try to edit her post to include the source like she did last time, above are screenshots of her post: you can see there's no mention on the original what so ever.<br /><br />Look Rehani, its all right to <span style="font-style:italic;">refer</span> other sites, but if you're just going to copy paste some thing with controversial eye catching subject matter for you to cash up from ad sense - well thats just pathetic.අමා http://www.blogger.com/profile/02038623450725430044noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2830211259642675595.post-91209135491664787252009-07-07T11:06:00.000-07:002009-07-07T11:26:30.102-07:00In case Rehani doesn't publish my comment...You know - just in case she decides to drop it.. In her latest <a href="http://theniceblogs.blogspot.com/2009/07/buddhism-fake-religion.html">'controversial' post</a> she goes on and on bashing Buddhism and its followers. <br />Just for the fun of it, and also, um because I had trouble crediting her with original thought, I did a google search on some of her post's exact phrases:<br />"exotic robes, shaved heads, style of worship"<br />"story of how Buddhism came to be is related to them as a fantastic, mystic legend. Books and films about Buddhism depict Buddha as the source of a great mystery."<br />These and more from : <br /><a href="http://www.harunyahya.com/buddhism01.php">http://www.harunyahya.com/buddhism01.php</a><br /><br />"Buddha was silent about the existence or non-existence of God. It may be that since India was drowned in idol worship and anthropomorphism that a sudden step to monotheism would have been drastic and hence Buddha may have chosen to remain silent on the issue of God."<br />This bit is from :<br /><a href="http://www.islamawareness.net/Buddhism/gautam.html">http://www.islamawareness.net/Buddhism/gautam.html</a>. Just replace 'India' with 'the world'.<br /><br />It goes on and on..She calls Buddhism a 'FAKE' religion , but it is her that does copy-pasting from other sites without even acknowledging them. There is only one word for what shes done, and that is '<span style="font-weight:bold;">plagiarism</span>'.අමා http://www.blogger.com/profile/02038623450725430044noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2830211259642675595.post-15479500047760680472009-07-04T07:36:00.000-07:002009-07-04T07:52:20.047-07:00Dying inside to hold you!Party music.<br />Me in that light brown-goldish-beige dress.<br />Wore my hair down - all the way to my hips.<br />Night.<br />Friends.<br />Laughing.<br />Someone introduces you to me out of the blue.<br />You so tall!<br />With that devil-may-care smile.<br />Messy wavy hair.<br />You say my name <br />And I ...<br />Luv at first sight?!<br />:D<br /><br />As you said later if our story was a song, it would be :<br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_mdssAvBL2Y">this!</a>අමා http://www.blogger.com/profile/02038623450725430044noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2830211259642675595.post-19573226805495077032009-04-04T10:55:00.000-07:002009-04-04T11:27:50.170-07:00The rain brings back sweet memories ...I was in the library. I was such a nerd those days. And of course I was hiding from you. Not because I didn't want to see you. Quite the opposite in fact.<br />It was raining cats and dogs that day. And me being the essentially melodramatic person that I am, was sitting near the window with it sort of a quarter open. Because I kinda liked the soft random pitter patter of rain drops down my neck. And I thought the thunder and lightening was kinda appropriate for the day - you know coz you were back. Well its hard to understand the connection I know - I've always been a bit weird that way... :)<br />Anyway I heard you come in. Of coz I knew it was you.. And you passed the window where I was sitting with my back to it, and you did two things that proved to me the validity of Butterfly effect :<br />First one : You were soaked ( why dont guys ever carry an umbrella? not cool enough?? geez) So you put your hands to your head, pushed back your hair (I know this because this is what you always do) and shook your self like a doggy - thereby splattering water everywhere else - everywhere including Yours Truly.<br /><br />Second one: Droplets landed on my book and I turned to glare at you but fail miserably - so I just bit my lip and turned back to my book. You then hit your arm accidentally on the window and opened the damn thing wide open - thereby bringing down a gale inside in full force. The wind ruffled and dampened my hair and my bangs fell forward to my face. I was glad of this because I thought it would hide the tears that I thought were gonna come.<br /><br />And then... You leaned forward and pushed those bangs away from my face. <br /><br />My heart beat so fast that I thought the librarian would give me detention. <br /><br />'Hi' you said.අමා http://www.blogger.com/profile/02038623450725430044noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2830211259642675595.post-19864998822125790022009-03-07T07:20:00.000-08:002009-03-07T07:41:25.948-08:00So LostHe catches me by the hand and begins walking. Half running. I half run with him. Annoyed. Perplexed. Obviously he wanted to go some where away from all these people.<br /><br />My room. He closes the door. Lock.<br /><br />I'm confused.<br />"You want to be with me?" I ask. As in "You <span style="font-style:italic;">want</span> to be with <span style="font-style:italic;">me???</span>"<br /><br />He takes both my hands in his.<br />"I want to be with you."<br /><br />Stunned silence. Then, I narrow my eyes. "Do you love me?"<br /><br />He makes a strangled noise. Rolls his eyes. I'm already forming a sarcastic retort for his lustful advances. To cover up how stupid I feel for thinking it was more than just lust. For wanting more. What a dimwit.<br /><br />He says, "You're so lost you know". He shakes his head. <br /><br />Tears sting my eyes. I try to be angry. Be mad.<br /><br />Then he speaks.<br />"I love you. And I want you. So much that it hurts - metaphorically ... and literally"<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Oh.</span>අමා http://www.blogger.com/profile/02038623450725430044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2830211259642675595.post-7075285665064883352009-01-31T09:19:00.000-08:002009-01-31T09:26:38.146-08:00සොඳුරු නපුරු සුළඟඔබ සුළඟක් සේ මැයි<br />විඩාව නිවා දී සුවය සලසන,<br />එනමුත් යස අගේට තිබුණු කෙස් කළඹ<br />කඩා විසුරුවන ...අමා http://www.blogger.com/profile/02038623450725430044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2830211259642675595.post-21678550205720843352009-01-06T07:29:00.000-08:002009-01-06T07:59:34.432-08:00ආදරණීය සමනළයා වෙතඉස්සර දවසක, මල් පිපුණු රන්වන් උදයක<br />මට මුණගැහුන ආදරණීය සමනළයෝ ...<br />පියාඹා යන්න මට නොපෙනෙන රටකට<br />සුමුදු සුකෝමල නුඹේ ඔය අත්තටු<br />බර වැඩියි මේ මගේ තනි හදවතට ...<br /><br />දිවිමගේ දූවිල්ලෙන් විඩාවක් දැනුණු විට<br />නුඹව මතක් කර සිනා නගන්නම්,<br />පුලුවන් වෙලාවක රෑට හීනෙන් ඇවිත්<br />මගෙ කඳුළක් අරන් යන්න.අමා http://www.blogger.com/profile/02038623450725430044noreply@blogger.com0