.a climacteric sense for love's impudent bravado.
...I'm not a ghost, am I? :C
"I'm only just a girl, standing in front of a guy, asking him to love her."
Him: LANCE(his supposed-name) – Though I control my life (God does), I don’t know what’ll happen to me and to the world in the upcoming years. When I’m 20, I want to be able to get back to this feeling, the exact one—how I felt for Lance. When I’m in bed with another man (it’ll be my husband of course), I want to be able to compare this feeling, of all my day dreams about him to him (my husband). And when I’m 40 and reaching menopause, with hot flashes flaunting my system like some gloating cream, I want to be able to recall the past, this past specifically, and I want to be able to smile at all my recollections. But it’d sure be happier if I find myself wrapped in his arms instead, the whole of me pulsating of his scent (which I’ve taken notice is like that of a baby’s). I’ll gladly lay there in his arms, and tell him stories he would be stunned to hear, like this one. Haha, this document would sure to be embarked in its fullest use years from now.
I was fooling around, running in all corners. This onslaught brought more noise to the vicinity as I, with my mouth big and wide, chased my classmates and got chased. I hid behind those standing who were chatting, either in pairs, or small clusters, I didn’t care. They merely gave me/us a stare, and nods of mixed but indistinguishable retorts to mark our presence, running around like some bunch of street kids. While I in return, all I did was let my heart set off; allow it to remain engulfed in this childish drive, my wetter of a lonely guise knocked cold to a heated and happy vibe.
Well, that was how they all saw it. People saw only a side of it, the outside face of it in fact. Seeing me happy and running like some kid instantly drove them to thinking that that was that, I am sure of that. I was just happy. Well, indeed I was. And now, if I think of that time, of those memories, I’d feel every now and then the feel on my lips: the trifling pressure of them being compressed, of how they slightly trembled. I was puckering them—a thing I often did as an outlet to be filled with courage do to a thing, and as a relief point of freeing the whole of me to just grasp the wind’s direction and let go.
I was watching him, like a predator would watch his prey. And just by that, I found that that thing alone, as cowardly and as shiftily apathetic it might be to the bold and nervy could get my heart to bleeding, timid that I was.
I loved him but the things that I could do to set this unrequited feeling to even just being known by him couldn’t exceed that. A wall probably, evincible only to my eyes, was causing the blockage.
And if with seeing me to the extent of baring my cover, I saw people to be dumb external types, I suppose I also could credit myself with that definition. I saw only him, but the only thing I did was just see him and nothing more. He didn’t know I’ve fallen for some one, that I was barely alive from falling for HIM. I belonged to him. I only wish he’d claim me, and we’d both be happy.
So perhaps, if he does claim me HIS, and if I am really able to succeed in catching this prey I’ve watched over for a year now, what’d become of my heart? Watching alone has struck its walls, causing it to bleed out. Hmmm… by filling it up with him as a catch, it’ll probably topple down to a wreck of red blood, of a joy that nothing could repose.
.,.,.,.,
The heat had tripled, and people, exhausted from sauntering down the once empty pavement have retired to talking in chairs.
I had slewed down on a spot just inches from him, trying to get hold of my breathing, knocking that canister of ice water, and condemning its contents to drown my thirst. I was trying to calm myself down, mentally kicking myself for being such a baby. Heck, I was 15 and had more control over my system, and was acting no less than a new born. It’s of another version though. I’ve stuffing of sweat and shaking instead of tears and wailing.
And he was right there, separated only by a some one in between. He acted like he didn’t notice but I knew. . .
.,.,.,.,.... . . . ....I'm not a ghost, am I? :C
"I'm only just a girl, standing in front of a guy, asking him to love her."
Him: LANCE(his supposed-name) – Though I control my life (God does), I don’t know what’ll happen to me and to the world in the upcoming years. When I’m 20, I want to be able to get back to this feeling, the exact one—how I felt for Lance. When I’m in bed with another man (it’ll be my husband of course), I want to be able to compare this feeling, of all my day dreams about him to him (my husband). And when I’m 40 and reaching menopause, with hot flashes flaunting my system like some gloating cream, I want to be able to recall the past, this past specifically, and I want to be able to smile at all my recollections. But it’d sure be happier if I find myself wrapped in his arms instead, the whole of me pulsating of his scent (which I’ve taken notice is like that of a baby’s). I’ll gladly lay there in his arms, and tell him stories he would be stunned to hear, like this one. Haha, this document would sure to be embarked in its fullest use years from now.
I was fooling around, running in all corners. This onslaught brought more noise to the vicinity as I, with my mouth big and wide, chased my classmates and got chased. I hid behind those standing who were chatting, either in pairs, or small clusters, I didn’t care. They merely gave me/us a stare, and nods of mixed but indistinguishable retorts to mark our presence, running around like some bunch of street kids. While I in return, all I did was let my heart set off; allow it to remain engulfed in this childish drive, my wetter of a lonely guise knocked cold to a heated and happy vibe.
Well, that was how they all saw it. People saw only a side of it, the outside face of it in fact. Seeing me happy and running like some kid instantly drove them to thinking that that was that, I am sure of that. I was just happy. Well, indeed I was. And now, if I think of that time, of those memories, I’d feel every now and then the feel on my lips: the trifling pressure of them being compressed, of how they slightly trembled. I was puckering them—a thing I often did as an outlet to be filled with courage do to a thing, and as a relief point of freeing the whole of me to just grasp the wind’s direction and let go.
I was watching him, like a predator would watch his prey. And just by that, I found that that thing alone, as cowardly and as shiftily apathetic it might be to the bold and nervy could get my heart to bleeding, timid that I was.
I loved him but the things that I could do to set this unrequited feeling to even just being known by him couldn’t exceed that. A wall probably, evincible only to my eyes, was causing the blockage.
And if with seeing me to the extent of baring my cover, I saw people to be dumb external types, I suppose I also could credit myself with that definition. I saw only him, but the only thing I did was just see him and nothing more. He didn’t know I’ve fallen for some one, that I was barely alive from falling for HIM. I belonged to him. I only wish he’d claim me, and we’d both be happy.
So perhaps, if he does claim me HIS, and if I am really able to succeed in catching this prey I’ve watched over for a year now, what’d become of my heart? Watching alone has struck its walls, causing it to bleed out. Hmmm… by filling it up with him as a catch, it’ll probably topple down to a wreck of red blood, of a joy that nothing could repose.
.,.,.,.,
The heat had tripled, and people, exhausted from sauntering down the once empty pavement have retired to talking in chairs.
I had slewed down on a spot just inches from him, trying to get hold of my breathing, knocking that canister of ice water, and condemning its contents to drown my thirst. I was trying to calm myself down, mentally kicking myself for being such a baby. Heck, I was 15 and had more control over my system, and was acting no less than a new born. It’s of another version though. I’ve stuffing of sweat and shaking instead of tears and wailing.
And he was right there, separated only by a some one in between. He acted like he didn’t notice but I knew. . .
I had been so full of him weeks before. He starred in most of my dreams. Every time I wake up, the hush of the morning breaking through my sleeping senses, I always try to recollect my dream, and think of possible continuations (with my imagination tampering with them and adding oh-so-sweet scenes to them, based on what I would've liked). But then, I don't know.
I just woke up one day, and suddenly, I was missing the imaginary but sure-felt push that had always been present, and was buzzingly alive within me the day before. I was in no mood to keep writing. The article I've started getting serious on as at least a written representation-a proof that my feelings do exist-of how I feel for him have been put to an end. My heart was still beating for him, that I am sure. But I knew, and saw it with my eyes, though it wasn't aptly recognizable in the pictures of me connecting myself to images recurring of him because of its faint and stray away presence. The hope that he would at least take notice of me had been slowly crumbling days before, and now, it's gone into a trashy pile of debris, and dust.
It's still there. Feelings like these don't easily get by. But, in a clatter broken refuse of all sorts-the foundings of a candle with a faint but burning light, the bouncing and pounding of the heart whenever he's close, all of it-that was all there is to that now. My active feelings, once wild, were trashed immobile, and now (probably) is kept in a part of my heart. They'd been turned into almost nothing, with no fire to light them on.
"I'm only just a girl, in front of a guy, asking him to love her."
If I could only say that. If only I was sexier. If only I was more beautiful. If only I had more talents. If only I was better. If only I had more guts. If only I had been more confident. If only I had more to give. If only I had been a whole different me, possibly someone who's not me--not Aiko.
But I remain to be who I am. I couldn't change.
If only (so many of them keep on echoing) . . Then, the feeling couldn't have been murdered. It's here. I can feel the ghost of its presence still adrift within me, and lingering by. But not the whole package, just its soul. And I think, soon enough, if one more dreadful thing happens, that small dot of red fire would just extinguish itself. Once again, after the ache and pain subsides, only darkness will remain--a dark and empty void. Like nothing's ever been started and lighted in the first place.
What is love? Have I really experienced it?
*Actually, the unitalicized text above is a written testimony of one of my dreams, which was unfortunately given a savage cut, therefore of the ending. But, the dream doesn't end there (He acted like he didn’t notice but I knew. . ..). Like I said, before I was able to finish it, I just sort of lost the energy to finish it. As respect to how I former felt about writing this article and to the article (unfinished as it may) itself, i decided to post it here (and at least an item to add to my blog XD). If you want, I can type a summary of the continuation.
*About the picture: It's just perfect for what I feel, for the whole of this situation. There hasn't been a streak of love (which I kept on blabbering about) between him and me. This whole time it has been unrequited. One-sided. And to remain that way (I guess).
Don't think I'm not grateful to the Lord. Though I feel down by inferiority at times (we all do), I have faith in the Lord, of making me as me. It's just a somewhat exaggerated prattle (to maybe somehow add drama to this article, which only composes of words, which must be somehow dead, dry, and ironic to the reader looking at them through a blinking monitor) by someone who's an emo at best, and someone, who like everybody else, has experienced the risk of appreciating someone of the opposite sex, and tried to converge into thinking that what was felt is love itself. Everybody wants it: love... We each of us deserves it to be true and everlasting. And we'll have to thank the Lord for that. He's always there. XD
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