Why did I dream, only
To wake up
To wake up?

And forget all — all of
Its beauty
Oh, the beauty!

I am
A shadow of a dream of
A shadow of a dream of
A shadow of a dream of

Why did I love, only
To lose you
To lose you?

And forget your lips on
My tear-stained cheeks
My tear-stained cheeks

You are
A shadow of a dream of
A shadow of a dream of
A shadow of a dream of

Wake up, wake up
It’s been too long
Wake up, wake up
But you’re asleep

Forever

You were
A shadow of a dream of
A shadow of a dream of
A shadow of a dream of

My heart smiles, for it is well. The grass is greener on this side, where the birds sing and the sun shines forever. No — where are you, my Soul? Happiness has mended your wings and away you flew, never to return.

If it could only be like this always — always summer, always alone, the fruit always ripe, and Aloysius in a good temper…

Evelyn Waugh, in Brideshead Revisited (which reminds me of Maurice, save for Aloysius the teddy bear)

Dear me! I am one-quarter gone.
Now, I’m half gone!
I’m three-quarters gone!
Oh dear, I’m all gone.

Quel sensation étrange, comme les derniers jours de l’été ou la perte de l’innocence. Le monde est devenu une peinture de Constable et tout le reste, j’ai oublié.

Quand la nuit tombe, le ciel est plein des étoiles mais ce soir, la lune est enchanté. À notre ombre, elle est rouge sang. Ah, je concède — we live in a beautiful world.

Thom is (I mean, was) a young lad of two, though his scars suggest that he was actually much older.

Born in China under the watchful eyes of quality controllers (hopefully), he eventually found fame in Suntec City where admirers caressed his glorious Californian tan and detractors defiled his modern beauty.

Yet with the passage of time, he shone no more and retreated behind a forlorn glass wall.

One day, a knight came and set him free. Together with his mysterious saviour, they weathered equatorial heat and Soviet winters alike; saw fools and kings; braved through the void and the darkness of the soul. Ensemble, nous étions invincible.

Yet all things doth pass away and one wintry afternoon, one fatal fall claimed his final breath. O Thom, that which dies is but the tangible! The soul lives long and I shall seek you a new form.

Update: Thom 2.0 (left) playfully mirroring his fifteen-year-old analog counterpart (right).

One year ago

It feels like it was yesterday when I received this book with my tiny hands. Time was soft then and everyone was much taller.