How I Blame This to The Hormones and Oxytocin
There was nothing compared to a black pair of glasses that fits perfectly to one’s edges of facial skin and hair line. A harmonious composition which, at that moment, I was discreetly drawn to.
Pardon me for being highly superficial, but sometimes we can do nothing but blame those selfish hormones, I suppose.
But alas, that moment, my eyes had the right to celebrate their glorious yet temporary freedom, to gulp bubbles of liberating air, after having done some labour work of fulfilling the assigned duty of being a soon-to-be-bachelor-graduate, aside from doing extra paper work to increase self-purchasing power a tiny bit.
So please, put aside your judgements, because at that moment, between the usual alien feeling of adapting the new circumstances, after the notorious 18 hours of flight, a figure of black pair of glasses that perfectly fits one’s edges of facial skin and hair line, a description which I deliberately recount from my previous narratives, provided an oasis to my exhausted eyes.
What interesting to me was,
as moments passed, as ice-breaking jargons were becoming irrelevant, and proxemics started to relax itself,
the significance of this black pair of glasses’ existence evolved, as it revealed the jewels it kept behind. Your jewels. The ones that glow, as colors of self-disclosures painted the blank canvas, as waves of knowledge were shared, as laughs and smiles were harvested.
To your surprise, and my surprise,
its significance increased to the level of loud declaration, of irrational statements and admiration. But again, we do agree that this perplexing labyrinth of life is supposed to grant us humans with surprises at each turn of the corner, don’t we?
So perhaps now,
as our glasses are exploring journey at different corners of the labyrinth, fret not.
Because as cliché as it may sound,
the labyrinth is indeed full of surprises, or at least to me, it still has a sense of humor.
As for me, perhaps now,
it’s best to thank my superficial attitude towards glasses. Specifically a black pair of glasses that fits perfectly to one’s edges of facial skin and hair line. Your edges of facial skin and hair line. Without that superficiality, I wouldn’t have you right now.
So back again,
.
.
.
Glasses.
Dedicated to the dearest person who taught me that love is supposed to be simple, not easy, but worth to fight for, and that being unreasonable is rock and roll. Cheers!
