Bliss, from Dusk till Dawn
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
T. S. Eliot (1888–1965), U.S.-born British poet and playwright.
Prufrock and Other Observations “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”.
At dusk, we met. At night, we drove in the sleepless street. At dawn, we retreat.
A bliss. In past tense.
Rainy night never fails making me hopelessly nostalgic.
Not the best shot of her. It’s out-of-focus and blurry.
Yet, it’s my favourite moment with her.
“Stop taking picture of me”
It’s actually a video.
“Argh, the attack of killer woman!” In reference to Attack of the Killer Tomatoes (1978).
Yup, it’s time to forget the past — sometimes in the near future.