Well, you really had me at hello. :)

Hey there,

I'm gonna ask you to do something, I'm gonna ask you to fall in love. And no, I don't mean it how you'd expect. I don't intend on patronising you for something as pure as what I'm gonna ask of you.

I'm asking you to fall in love with the little things. Fall in love with how someone scribbles on the last page of their notebook because they're jotting their most private feelings down. Fall in love with how someone takes out the peas from their mashed potatoes, how someone plays with the loose threads on their shirt when they're nervous, with how someone stammers when they tell you their insecurities, how someone sketches on a random tissue paper because it's art and is worth holding on to, how someone dog-ears a page because they love that one line, with how someone mindlessly sways to slow jazz when they think no one's watching, how someone sings at the top of their voice while buttoning up the shirt to get to work, how someone holds their pen a little tighter when they are writing down something they're excited about, how someone is so particular about the kinda black they wear even if the world won't know the difference, how someone is waiting to go to that hill-side shack to have their tea because of how the old guy will always add more sugar assuming it would sweeten one's life, with how someone recites poetry in a reassuring voice that they hope someone would read to them in, how someone falls eight times but gets up nine because they gathered the courage, or maybe how someone tries to be better, even if it's a little bit every day.

Fall in love, absolutely and irrevocably with how, in so many ways - small and big, people are beautiful. How everyone is unique, special and how everyone has a zillion intricate folds to their ever so melancholic existence.

Go ahead, I dare you, fall in love with the little things in life. Because these little things? They're not so little after all.

Until next time,
Love always,
S

Comments

Miles of space to play with

People like to believe the universe is some grand orchestrator, shuffling fate cards like a moody blackjack dealer. But sometimes, it just sits back with popcorn and watches two people fumble their way into a slow-burning disaster that smells vaguely of espresso and unresolved tension. Enter Nat and Miles, two souls with more chemistry than a freshman lab fire, and just about as much common sense. By now, I assume you know Miles a bit. So allow me to introduce Nat. Nat. Now there’s a piece of work the universe clearly cooked up on a cheeky day. All sharp wit, unreadable playlists, and the kind of elegance that doesn’t try, it just is. She walks into a room like she already knows the ending but still watches everyone else catch up. She’ll dissect a business pitch, write a blog that punches through your chest, and still look vaguely annoyed that you haven’t figured out how she takes her coffee (strong, like her opinions, with a splash of skimmed milk and quiet judgment). But don’t be foo...

a few more Miles than just the Moon and back (:

There are two kinds of people in the world: the ones you meet, exchange pleasantries with, and promptly forget the moment they leave the room—and then there are the ones who, for no logical reason at all, get stuck in your head like a poorly-written pop song . The kind that shouldn’t linger but does, that worms its way into your subconscious, popping up at odd moments—when you’re tying your shoelaces, when you’re waiting for the kettle to boil, when you’re halfway through a meeting pretending to care about synergy but are actually wondering what someone drinks on a Saturday night. People never really choose which category someone falls into, and if Miles had been given the choice, he probably would’ve filed Her under forgettable and called it a day. Except he wasn’t given the choice. It wasn’t love at first sight, (blows raspberries) or even admiration. Nothing theatrical, no fireworks, no grand epiphany. Just five seconds. A glance across a jazz bar, a half-empty drink, a laugh h...

Miles to go before I sleep.

If you asked Miles about that morning—months later, years later, in some dimly lit bar when his guard was down—he wouldn’t be able to tell you why it mattered. Not at first. He’d frown, tilt his head like he was trying to shake loose the answer, and maybe laugh it off, saying something dismissive like, “It was just a weird moment. Nothing, really.” But that would be a lie. Because the truth is, the world is full of people you meet and forget, faces that blur into a background you never bother to sharpen. And then, there are the ones who—without meaning to, without even trying—get stuck . Not because they want to be, but because, for one reason or another, your mind refuses to let them go. And that’s exactly how this started. Not with some grand revelation. Not with sparks flying or a moment that changed everything. Just four seconds. A flicker of something real in a woman who wasn’t supposed to be real to him. A moment so small it should have disappeared into the mess of his day, but ...

Hello, there!

Search This Blog