March 5, 2009

a toast to the things that make it matter

Fireflies. Little creatures that emit traces of anti-shroud. Sometimes too faint to realise, mostly unseen just because at that very moment in time our faces were turned to another direction. And it's that faint pulse of light that gracefully bestow an unspoken wave of acknowledgement- like a fuzzy sort of void-fill: a confirmation & connection, a meaning, a reason, and a simple 'thank you' for being part of somebody else's world. Do we choose who we play angel to, or are we chosen; -designated by the very people whom we grow fond enough to care about, coz it shows? And can a person ever be the sentinel of her own sentinel?

A toast, to the seemingly normal things we never realise can mean a lot more to another.. if only...

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