The sound of your smile over the phone, I love.
The way you react to the nicknames I call you, I love.
The way you sound helpless when you ask for help, I love.
The way your breath catches in your throat when you start a sentence, I love.
The sound of your snigger when you talk, I love.
The way you playfully test my patience, I love.
When you ask me what I'm doing, I love.
The little attempts at jokes you make, I love.
The awkward pauses we have in a conversation, I love.
The surprise in your voice when I remember the tiniest detail about you, I love.
The apprehension you feel when I ask you a serious question, I love.
The way you get all nervous and flustered when I get straight to the point, I love.
When you send me a text in the middle of the night, I love.
The passion you have for football, I love.
That fiery insistance of yours when you want something from me, I love.
Your broad shoulders and perfect fingers, I love.
The way you fret about my wellbeing, I love.
The way you look at me when you think I don't see, I love.
The smile carved on your lips that is only reserved for me, I love.
When you call me on the phone unexpectedly, I love.
The way your voice drips with jealousy of another, I love.
The way you dilligently try to make a connection, I love.
The way you probe into my life just to want to know me better, I love.
The way your eyes light up when we manage to meet unexpectedly, I love.
When you remember a small trivia about us, I love.
The way your voice quivers when you say hello at the start of a phone call, I love.
The way your hand trembles when you pass me a piece of chocolate, I love.
The way you give me a sideways glance so that nobody else sees, I love.
The way you try to be the person that is worthy of me, I love.
You, I love.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Regardless
If there ever was a word in the history of mankind to describe you, only one single word, that word would be bipolar. Yes. Very succinct. Precise and to the point. You and your little mood swings and bursts of emotions. You never cease to baffle me. Hell, I never cease to baffle me. I can't keep this up for long. I can't keep living like this; waiting, unsure, insecure.
We can't even make it through the week without falling out. We don't fight or anything, we just fall out. Just like that. Then you retreat to your far corner where no light penetrates and become one with the shadows. You simply vanish from the face of the earth and there's no way to reach you, not by any means. Oh God, the waiting. When we start, it's a bang, all fireworks and sound, frenzied to the point of going off the radar. But when we stop, it's the silence of the crypt, nothing moves, no sign of life whatsoever.
Every single day, without fail, the people I am (sometimes) unfortunate enough to call my family drive me to the brink of exhaustion and insanity. And you're that little beacon of hope, keeping me in check. But I highly doubt you're aware of your role. It gets so frustrating at times. Hope is like a double-edged sword. Hope is the embodiment of evil, its very essence, in fact. And I am hopelessly hopeful when it comes to you.
Right now, I feel like emptying the recycling bin for glass bottles over my head so that everything comes down in a shower of pain and colour. I feel like lying on the road so that a steamroller can come along and crush the life out of me. I feel like ripping the hairs out of my scalp and rolling in the mud. I feel like banging my head against the door repeatedly.
One day in the future, I'll be laughing about this. Re-reading all my blogposts and looking back in time, there would be no doubt about it. But the present is a stalker who doesn't yield to my threats and restraining orders.
Once in a while I wonder how would you react if it was me that was pulling the tantrums. I bet my ass you'd be gone before I could even bat an eyelid. I saw your picture online yesterday. The sweat on your forehead, the mess of hair, the broad shoulders. Man, the emotions that tugged at my heartstrings! I'm so ashamed for letting myself feel that way. I feel worthless. I miss you, dammit. Do something about it. Urgh.
You know what, I spend half my time thinking about how much I love you and the other half wishing that we'd never met.
We can't even make it through the week without falling out. We don't fight or anything, we just fall out. Just like that. Then you retreat to your far corner where no light penetrates and become one with the shadows. You simply vanish from the face of the earth and there's no way to reach you, not by any means. Oh God, the waiting. When we start, it's a bang, all fireworks and sound, frenzied to the point of going off the radar. But when we stop, it's the silence of the crypt, nothing moves, no sign of life whatsoever.
Every single day, without fail, the people I am (sometimes) unfortunate enough to call my family drive me to the brink of exhaustion and insanity. And you're that little beacon of hope, keeping me in check. But I highly doubt you're aware of your role. It gets so frustrating at times. Hope is like a double-edged sword. Hope is the embodiment of evil, its very essence, in fact. And I am hopelessly hopeful when it comes to you.
Right now, I feel like emptying the recycling bin for glass bottles over my head so that everything comes down in a shower of pain and colour. I feel like lying on the road so that a steamroller can come along and crush the life out of me. I feel like ripping the hairs out of my scalp and rolling in the mud. I feel like banging my head against the door repeatedly.
One day in the future, I'll be laughing about this. Re-reading all my blogposts and looking back in time, there would be no doubt about it. But the present is a stalker who doesn't yield to my threats and restraining orders.
Once in a while I wonder how would you react if it was me that was pulling the tantrums. I bet my ass you'd be gone before I could even bat an eyelid. I saw your picture online yesterday. The sweat on your forehead, the mess of hair, the broad shoulders. Man, the emotions that tugged at my heartstrings! I'm so ashamed for letting myself feel that way. I feel worthless. I miss you, dammit. Do something about it. Urgh.
You know what, I spend half my time thinking about how much I love you and the other half wishing that we'd never met.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Dummy and Dumber
The bell rings, signalling the end of another school session. Her bag is packed, books stowed away with careful precision, making sure the textbooks don't curl around the edges. She deliberately takes her time, waiting as the class slowly empties. She risks a glance across the room and the corners of her mouth turn upwards as she sees him doing the same. Her heart flutters in her chest, like the beating of a hummingbird's wings. Her tummy knots with anticipation. He's still fumbling with the strap of his bag. Too slow, she thinks, a small smile forming on her lips.
She picks up her bag and walks out the door. He meets up with her outside. His eyes are trained on the floor as he walks towards her. He blushes and manages a shy smile when he looks up to find that she is watching him intently.
They walk side by side, saying nothing, too afraid to even breathe. She silently wishes the journey to the front gate never ends, so that they could go on forever, just the two of them.
She attempts small talk as they round the bend and head down the stairs. He answers her distractedly, but she doesn't mind. From the look on his face, she deduces that he's formulating his thoughts.
They pass so many other students enroute to their destination. Some friends, some just random schoolmates with no name.
They reach the canteen and incidentally he meets his brother. Incidentally. They start talking about the calligraphy his brother has made for their mother. She prays under her breath that his brother would go away. Good days like this never come easy. And by some miracle, his brother moves away. He falls back a step behind to walk with her. She feels relief beyond words. He turns to her.
"Have you ever heard about 1-4-3?"
She shakes her head in reply. He looks a tad bit crestfallen.
"So you don't know what it is?" he presses.
"No. What the hell does that mean?"
"Oh, I saw it in this movie," he begins sheepishly. "The guy said it to the girl. It means I love you."
"Oh, okay." She feels strangely detached, trying to piece the information together. "Are you saying it to me?" she asks.
"Do you want me to say it to you?"
"Only if you feel that way about me. If you don't, then don't say it."
He ponders what she's said for a while. Silence. His face is conflicted with emotions. Before you know it, they've reached the gates. His mother is waiting for him in her slick black car. His brother is with her.
He looks pained. She knows this chance may never come again. He turns away and walks to the car.
A period of two years has elapsed since that afternoon. Some days it shines, on others it rains. Sometimes she thinks back on those days when the world seemed so alienated from her. She was a living, breathing thing, but somehow through her eyes the world had taken on a shade of gray. She revisits the past now and again, sifting through events that took place and altered her life so dramatically. Sometimes this particular memory is the one that hurts the most, eventhough it seems as harmless as eating french fries with ice cream. She beats herself up whenever she thinks about it.
This time, she promises herself, things will be different.
She picks up her bag and walks out the door. He meets up with her outside. His eyes are trained on the floor as he walks towards her. He blushes and manages a shy smile when he looks up to find that she is watching him intently.
They walk side by side, saying nothing, too afraid to even breathe. She silently wishes the journey to the front gate never ends, so that they could go on forever, just the two of them.
She attempts small talk as they round the bend and head down the stairs. He answers her distractedly, but she doesn't mind. From the look on his face, she deduces that he's formulating his thoughts.
They pass so many other students enroute to their destination. Some friends, some just random schoolmates with no name.
They reach the canteen and incidentally he meets his brother. Incidentally. They start talking about the calligraphy his brother has made for their mother. She prays under her breath that his brother would go away. Good days like this never come easy. And by some miracle, his brother moves away. He falls back a step behind to walk with her. She feels relief beyond words. He turns to her.
"Have you ever heard about 1-4-3?"
She shakes her head in reply. He looks a tad bit crestfallen.
"So you don't know what it is?" he presses.
"No. What the hell does that mean?"
"Oh, I saw it in this movie," he begins sheepishly. "The guy said it to the girl. It means I love you."
"Oh, okay." She feels strangely detached, trying to piece the information together. "Are you saying it to me?" she asks.
"Do you want me to say it to you?"
"Only if you feel that way about me. If you don't, then don't say it."
He ponders what she's said for a while. Silence. His face is conflicted with emotions. Before you know it, they've reached the gates. His mother is waiting for him in her slick black car. His brother is with her.
He looks pained. She knows this chance may never come again. He turns away and walks to the car.
A period of two years has elapsed since that afternoon. Some days it shines, on others it rains. Sometimes she thinks back on those days when the world seemed so alienated from her. She was a living, breathing thing, but somehow through her eyes the world had taken on a shade of gray. She revisits the past now and again, sifting through events that took place and altered her life so dramatically. Sometimes this particular memory is the one that hurts the most, eventhough it seems as harmless as eating french fries with ice cream. She beats herself up whenever she thinks about it.
This time, she promises herself, things will be different.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Nvrmnd.
It's been less than 24-hours and yet I want to take to the streets (no illegal rally rubbish) and shout out 'til my lungs give out
I MISS YOU.
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