Maia Nebula!

If only it were July.

We would slouch on our favorite sofa, grab a few magazines and let the afternoon go by in silence. Watch the stream of time trickle away, together. Can’t we skip this half-year? I could definitely do without six months of reruns. It’s the same day every day—no change in seclusion, save for the bowing sun staring longer at me, peering through a curtain of bare branches.

Munich and Lhasa can wait for the triumphant arrival of our fastened hands, can’t it? So much time is wasted in waiting! Let’s cut this long, boring film and show the interesting bits only. Two months out of twelve. How about those fifteen days too? Fog and food and frozen friends. Too bad you weren’t there, I’ll take you someday—someday, nothing but the distant future. We’re stuck in a prologue, page after page it’s a thrilling promise, but when will the real story begin?

If only it were July.

I looked into the eyes of beauty, and my own eyes could not take it. I found myself surrounded by the chanting voices of the past, of true happiness; such a simple yet precious couple of seconds becoming engraved in my fondest memories. Thus, my cold, sick head melted like candlewax, and a silver pool of warm tears covered the ground where I once stood.

There’s a new book in my room.

Okay, it’s not new. It’s somebody else’s. Somebody who was sitting in front of the gym, smoking, and suddenly called my name. He invited me to coffee in his dorm room, where he taught me how to play a Peruvian song on the guitar and talked about his favorite books, his job, and how he tends to ask people questions, even if he doesn’t know them.

I asked if I could borrow the score for the song he taught me. The coffee was quite tasty, or maybe it was the attention which made it good. Later I asked if I could borrow one of his Haruki Murakami books. His voice was soothing, and his friendliness was simply unbelievable for a time when I’ve been feeling like a social pariah.

Once again, I’ve been miraculously acknowledged as a human being.

My outfit today: orange turtleneck sweater, beige knee-high a-line skirt, brown tights, brown with orange polka dots over knee socks, black boots, beige sherpa jacket.

My classmates’ unexpected verdict: “oshare!” (fashionable)

I guess for once I was not some untouchable incomprehensible thing from outer space, and my tastes were actually compatible with theirs.