And when I touched it, life bled through the spidery ink lines and it ripped away from my flesh to fly away before I could ask it why.
When I awoke, I actually felt bereft when I looked down at my knee and found it blank.
Last night, I dreamt that I found Bryanboy's renown Marc Jacobs bag, you know, the one MJ named after him and sent him a prototype of? I just happened to be in the Philippines because I was doing an exchange student program in my fashion course (as a photographer, not designer. surprised?), and as I was walking around a shopping mall, I stumbled across the bag.
Bryanboy was running around frantically trying to find the bag (wouldn't you if it were a bag personally bestowed upon you by the designer?) and I returned it to him. We ended up talking and having a great connection over our love for fashion and an Alber Elbaz organiser. He brought me up to his apartment for a lookiesee, and we took several candid polaroid shots of him playing around in his wardrobe. He was without pretension, friendly, witty and a lot more serious than he is portrayed to be in his blog. It was a rare thing, but I actually clicked with him.
In the end, he took out from his organizer, a sheet of contacts I should get in touch with if I wanted to gain advice over my writing skills and promote my blog. I handled that thin sheet of paper like it was made out of gold. I actually felt sad when I entered the lift to exit his apartment building. It has been so long since I met someone I knew we could be great friends. But I pragmatically thought, at least I got the sheet of contacts from him. What was more important? Networking with people who could help my career, or just getting one friend?
The answer was a little reluctant in coming.
The lift doors opened at the ground floor, and there he was, panting with exertion since he had ran down the staircase to catch me.
He flashed me a playful smile. "Want to have lunch tomorrow?"
Then I woke up, feeling the desolateness that comes from losing a friend.
How strange, no?