Friday, June 10, 2011

A morning at Yonge St

I honestly hate the fact that my eyes are already small and they look even smaller in pictures, together with ugly eye-bags that I trawl with me everywhere I go. It’s sick. It’s 14 degrees here in Vancouver when we arrived last night, and pretty cool too in the morning that we were too afraid to take a jog. You know how you always tell yourself it’s mind over body? That’s when your body refuses to move and your mind cannot do shit. That’s it. It’s another morning in Yonge Street, and every morning no different from the last. You walk into Tim Hortons, order a breakfast bagel BELT, grab a double double and watch an hour pass by. That’s the beauty about holidays.

This morning, his grandfather took out a loaf of bread from the fridge and sliced it up for the toaster, while I filled my glass with milk. I saw the same wrinkled hands that used to pump gas and cooked for years, and the same hands that held his grandmother down that aisle - That all else were gone, he’s now alone (But never alone), the same kind of affection I have for my grandmother and all the elderly whom are worth being inspired about. The kind of lives they lead, how much they’ve done to come thus far and what beauty meant to them. There was once a friend and I had this love in common, but it didn’t work out - It probably meant that the love we’ve been seeking together was different, and no one could come up with an answer. That feeling lingered, overpowered, and now it’s gone. The same trajectory lost in its own kind. 

Today’s best images worth browsing: Flickr Blog - Small town of Bumble Bee, Arizona, not too far from The Grand Canyon 

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