I miss the times when i got 31/50 for my LA test.
I miss the times when i got 32% for Chinese.
I miss it when i look at my Chinese Papers.
I miss it when i recall Synapses.
I miss it when i see my timetable.
Because,
I remember the times of DOTA
of Taiti
of Blackjack
of Texas Hold Em'
of Bridge
of Hiding Bottles
of Placing Flutes on Ledges
of Opening one door and running out after insulting a Malaysian.
of Locking one door after seeing boys angering girls.
There were no other joyous times, but the times
When i poked fun at China
I gave you nicknames
I coupled you together
I laughed at two people talking.
Just Talking.
I miss it all, the good, the bad,
Because I had V12.
But it is a time i can never go back to.
It'll just be a memory
Stored away in some crevice in my brain
No longer will there be the laughs like there used to.
The innocence of us children,
Fooling around like mad little clowns.
Growing up means letting go,
Like removing paper from old files,
crushing them and tossing them to the trash bin's side,
its cover slightly open,
like a dazed boy's mouth, slightly ajar,
waiting for someone to close it.
Where i feel horrible,
i feel sad,
i feel happy,
then sad again,
then realise that it might not be so bad after all.
I think of the reunions and timed gatherings when w are old and capable of reminiscing.
I wish i could relive it again.
Yet,
I know I wouldn't want to.
I miss the times when i got 32% for Chinese.
I miss it when i look at my Chinese Papers.
I miss it when i recall Synapses.
I miss it when i see my timetable.
Because,
I remember the times of DOTA
of Taiti
of Blackjack
of Texas Hold Em'
of Bridge
of Hiding Bottles
of Placing Flutes on Ledges
of Opening one door and running out after insulting a Malaysian.
of Locking one door after seeing boys angering girls.
There were no other joyous times, but the times
When i poked fun at China
I gave you nicknames
I coupled you together
I laughed at two people talking.
Just Talking.
I miss it all, the good, the bad,
Because I had V12.
But it is a time i can never go back to.
It'll just be a memory
Stored away in some crevice in my brain
No longer will there be the laughs like there used to.
The innocence of us children,
Fooling around like mad little clowns.
Growing up means letting go,
Like removing paper from old files,
crushing them and tossing them to the trash bin's side,
its cover slightly open,
like a dazed boy's mouth, slightly ajar,
waiting for someone to close it.
Where i feel horrible,
i feel sad,
i feel happy,
then sad again,
then realise that it might not be so bad after all.
I think of the reunions and timed gatherings when w are old and capable of reminiscing.
I wish i could relive it again.
Yet,
I know I wouldn't want to.
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