no spring nor monsoon in the air here

but reading everybody's blogs - which seem to be universally inclining towards senti-ism

i find my thots turning towards the emotional

maybe the fact that, after a long period of staid non fiction, I am indulging in my favourite indulgence again ...

sweet sentimental romance - 2 in a serioes ... an mb followed by a georgette heyer :)

im also sitting on my first Gabriel Garcia Marquez by recommendation

lets see how that goes




besides that its pretty boring




i was thinking to myself (whom else do people "think" to)

that we often think we miss this and that person or place, but isnt it that what we really miss is just a time? a phase, a slice of our lives ... the way it was then, the way we felt ... a certain yesterday, a certain feeling, a certain home-ish flavour ... caught on the wind. a whiff of a memory, of a time when we fit in, belonged, to felt a part of somepart of some world
like mole missing home - long forgotten and now remembered?