Today I talked to myself about friends. Friends. I’m happy with what I have. But is it natural to think that there might be better? I don’t mean this in terms of overall quality, of course. I mean, it just seems as if I’ve never really done the things I’ve wanted to do with the type of friends I thought I’d have by now. You think there’ll come a point in your life where you meet a few peculiar people, all with odd hobbies and even more bizarre personalities with firm convictions taking hold of each one. People who enjoyed staying home reading books, listening to their favourite albums, or basking in their lethargy whilst in bed. People who didn’t constantly feel the need for social interaction, if only because they enjoyed themselves much more. They fancied walking under bridges and talking to themselves, hearing the echoes of their voices and feeling as if there was a voice beyond theirs speaking; giving them advice, soldiering on with them despite the unbearable weight of social expectation. These were people who set their speakers to 11 on a scale of 10 and danced gratuitously to their favourite songs. These were people who looked outside through their windows and took note of mundane, natural things they loved with a marker, accompanied by some witty remarks. These people would synchronize their mp3 players to play the same songs at exactly the same time just because they were bored, or out of games to play. These people made coffee, and never drank it; they were absolutely content with the aroma of freshly made coffee lingering still across the room - like an ethereal, mocha-scented blanket that embraced them like a mother would her son after returning home from war. They sat down on grass during sunny days and pretended to move the clouds with their hands. They skateboarded, biked, longboarded together when they went to town. None of them liked the taste of cucumber and peppers. They had a massive fascination with the scent of melon and tried their best every time they were at a mall to walk past the local Lush. Sometimes, they liked taking note of intricate differences found amongst the scents of various people as they walked by. They ate cereal for dinner on occasion, not because they wanted to mix things up - but because eating Frosted Flakes with milk during an upbeat indie film just felt nice. They read their favourite books together in the corners of the same room with Christmas lights serving as the only source of incandescence. They drew pictures of each other on white walls with coloured chalk. They etc.
tristifical - causing to be sad or mournful. eternitarian - one who believes in the eternity of the soul. cosmogyral - whirling round the universe. siagonology - study of jaw-bones. autexousious - exercising or possessing free will. nepheliad - cloud-nymph. gardeviance -chest for valuables; a traveling trunk. ictuate - to emphasize. senticous - prickly; thorny. interfation - act of interrupting another while speaking. nequient - not being able. sparsile - of a star, not included in any constellation. perantique - very antique or ancient. vacivity - emptiness. redamancy - act of loving in return. starrify - to decorate with stars; to make into a star.
I used to like these. Now that they’re getting reblogged like mad, I can’t help but feel that most of the people that see this shit don’t even bother to internalize the beauty of these words. Serving solely as a cosmetic factor for most of these blogs, I do find the revised title sufficiently appropriate.