Chicago, if anything, was wonderful. For those who know, yes, Chicago was nothing short of fun. For those who don't, well, I was in Chicago for the long October Break weekend. I would love to give a nice day-by-day description of the trouble we got ourselves into and the amount of money we spent, but right now after my rhetorical essay on The Bourne Ultimatum I'm just not up to the task. As yet.
And no, no pictures. Pictorial day-by-day account in the next entry, probably.
Life is getting tiring, but that doesn't mean I'm tired of life. Sometimes I just wanna go to sleep knowing that I don't have any obligation to wake up to eat breakfast, or lunch, or dinner, or do my homework, just sleep and dream about what I want to. To dream about marriage and love, about glass skyscrapers and carbon fibre vehicles.
Later, people, later.
You hear a soft groan. You feel something heavy resting on your ribcage, something that startles you from your sleep. You take a closer look, and recall that she fell asleep while reading on your bed, your torso a perfect pillow for her head.
Light has started streaming in through the window, the shadow of the tall oak tree shielding your face intermittently from the sun. You try to take short gasps of air so that her head doesn't bob too much from your breathing.
She rolls over to your left, her face now half-buried in your lower ribs, her short breaths tickling your skin. Her right arm now slings across your heart and grabs onto your left shoulder, her left arm contorted comfortably behind her back. You reach across and grab her fingers with your right hand, your left hand massaging her neck softly. You stare at her fluttering eyelids from her sleeping eye movements - she's probably having a really nice dream.
You think to yourself: Is this it?
Then you accidentally draw in a deep breath, waking her up from her deep sleep. She glances around with her half-closed eyes, not yet realising why she's where she's at right now.
"Sorry," she says, as she closes her eyes and smiles at you.
She clambers over to your right side, hugging your right arm back to sleep.
And then you think to yourself: Probably.
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