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Saturday 7 September 2013

the boy on the bus.


Sitting two rows ahead and one seat to the right,
he rhythmically drums his fingers on a pile of notebooks
almost the same way you played me Chopin Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2.
The time your ears burned and you kept apologizing for messing up,
when I was so utterly captivated I'd hardly noticed.


The way he delicately folds his ticket in half until it can't fold anymore
reminds me of how you folded each one differently,
how you kept them in a jar, and how I fell in love with the way
you smiled and called them souvenirs from your adventures.


His fingers scratch the back of his neck near the exact way you did,
the times we first talked and you'd get so nervous
your face turned the loveliest shade of red
and we'd sit in unusually comfortable silence
whenever you ran out of things to say.


But once I step onto pavement and turn to look,
I'm greeted by the window's glare,
then staring into ongoing traffic
with a thousand questions running through my head,
and a “hi” on the edge of my tongue
that didn't have the opportunity to escape my lips.



Simply left standing,
wondering if it was really you
or if it was just
another boy on the bus.



Monday 8 July 2013

Dear No One,

These past few days I've had problems falling asleep at night.
Yesterday, I stayed up until 4 in the morning listening to sad songs.
Things are so different now.
I used to have the love songs on nonstop repeat, but now I skip every single one.

I used to "aw" at cute couples in the mall. But now when I see people who look so utterly in love with each other, I get all angry and sad and sick to my stomach. I feel suffocated and want to run away, but I can't. It's a horrible feeling and I feel like such an awful human being for thinking this way.

-

Dear No One,

I miss him.

I miss our late night conversations. I miss my hand in his and how comfortable and relieved he made me feel.
I miss talking to him. How I wish we could go back to talking like we used to. I don't want him to become a stranger again.

I know it was for the best, but now everything feels so strange.
I know I should move on, but now I'm lonely and sad, and miss the way things were before.

I'm alone once again and I only have myself to blame.

Sunday 23 June 2013

tea.

the rim of my mug
smudged red from my lips

worry draining
in between sips.

Tuesday 4 June 2013

Sigh. (fin.)


My alarm clock blasts its exasperating, never-ending lullaby,
but sensing my displeasure, ceases its ringing.
I open my eyes to the sound of rain pounding on my window and realize it's only Monday.
Eighteen more hours for the day to drag by.
I sigh.

Broken silence surrounds me as I walk the streets alone.
The rhythmical beating of raindrops on pavement is like white noise
accompanying me to school while it simultaneously soothes my soul.
I am myself - at peace, at ease.
I close my eyes.
Once again, springtime's popcorn embellishes every patch of grass I walk past,
eliciting nostalgia.
They're like little paper twist ties confining my fingers,
reminding me of all the petals I've wasted last August -
hoping to change the mind of a boy who spoke to me with words
each time I looked at him with feelings.
Those dainty little deceivers had me spilling my heart out,
confessing that he's caged butterflies in my stomach since day one.
Never again.
I take a second glace at those tiny white lies,
and I sigh.

Wandering alone aimlessly through crowded hallways,
the back of my shoe periodically scuffed by students too much in a rush.
I'm enjoying my own company but can't help but feel forsaken
when not one of my classmates bother to glance my way or render a wave.
How is it possible that I adore seclusion, but hate the feeling of loneliness?
Agonizing over the love-hate relationship between solitude and I,
Once again,
I sigh.

All the words that leave my mouth sound so entirely ignorant,
I begin to wonder, maybe it'd be better if I spoke absolutely nothing at all.
It's as if all I can do is helplessly watch her hurt,
her tears continuously raining and staining her cheeks.
Incompetence haunts me for being incapable of consoling her at her most vulnerable.
All I know are tight hugs and sympathetic pats on the back.
I couldn't possibly fathom how much she's going through,
or how it feels to entrust your sentiments to those who could so easily double-cross you.
All the the thoughts I want to reconstruct into words would shatter her heart.
I'm too inexperienced, I think, so I bite my tongue and hold her close.
I feel my heart drop from my ribcage.
I notice it's far from enough, but I know it'd only be detrimental if I tried.
I let out another sigh.

Exams are returned, and I'm fanatical.
I undeniably recall studying my precious hours of sleep away for this one.
Jubilantly flipping through pages of my marked test,
for once, I'm overjoyed with my achievement, thinking, they'd be proud.
When I turn around to see her merely satisfied with a mark eclipsing mine,
my fleeting feelings of assurance diminish to nothing.
She does it so astoundingly effortlessly;
I wonder, would they be prouder if she instead of I were their daughter?
The answer's painfully obvious, no longer do I question my feelings of discouragement.
My eyes linger from pages filled with doodles
towards the upper right corner of the room where he normally resides.
Anticipating his returned gaze, I am unexpectedly greeted by his absence.
My heart stops and my excitement dies.
I sigh.

Routinely and cheerfully, he asks about my day
as if expecting to hear the same old, “good, what about yours?”
But, not this time.
This time, I decide I'm tired of masking my feelings
behind a multitude of fake smiles and sugar-coated words.
Apprehensively, I pour my heart out to him,
and despite that he says nothing, I stare into his eyes and see that he understands.
How completely wonderful it is to find someone
who fathoms the intricacy of feeling too much,
and knows how painful it is when you believe everyone around you
sees you simply as a glass half full.
Who knew one glance could exhume you, could bring you to life so easily?
Although he doesn't utter a single word,
as he opens his arms wide and pulls me in, my consciousness withers
and I realize I'm simply a glass, nothing less.
For the first time in days, I gaze up at the dismal sky
I smile
and I sigh.

Sunday 2 June 2013

Sigh. (ver.1)

My alarm clock plays me the irritating, never-ending song of its people
It senses my indignation and ceases its ringing.
Subsequently, I open my eyes to the sound
of rain pounding on my windows and realize it's only Monday.
Eighteen more hours before the day goes by.
I sigh.

Silence surrounds me as I walk the streets alone.
The rhythmical beating of raindrops on pavement is like white noise
accompanying me to school while it simultaneously soothes my soul.
I am myself - at peace, at ease.
Closing my eyes,
I sigh.

Once again, springtime's popcorn embellishes every patch of grass I walk past,
bringing back the nostalgia, they're like little paper twist ties confining my fingers.
They remind me of all the petals I've wasted last August -
hoping to change the mind of a boy who spoke to me with words
each time I looked at him with feelings.
Those dainty little deceivers, had me spilling my heart out,
confessing that he's caged butterflies in my stomach since day one. 
Never again.
I take a second glace at those tiny white lies,
and I sigh.

Her and I – two sedentary creatures at the back of the ceramics classroom
engage in our morning routine, murmuring while reading papers and glossing sculptures,
quietly listening to the radio when suddenly Gangnam Style blasts on.
Turning to me, she rolls her eyes then shakes her head, retreating to her crossword puzzles.
Maybe today will turn out okay, I think to myself
as I'm helplessly and unconditionally drawn into the beat.
There's no one else nearby
I can't help but PSY.

Wandering alone aimlessly through crowded hallways,
the back of my shoe periodically scuffed by students too much in a rush.
Enjoying my own company but I can't help but feel forsaken
when not one of my classmates bother to glance my way or render a wave.
How is it possible that I adore seclusion, but hate the feeling of loneliness?
Agonizing over the love-hate relationship between solitude and I,
Once again,
I sigh.


All the words that leave my mouth are sounding so entirely ignorant,
I begin to wonder, maybe it'd be better if I spoke absolutely nothing at all.
It's as if all I can do is helplessly watch her hurt,
her tears continuously raining and staining her cheeks.
Feelings of incompetence haunt me for being incapable of consoling her at her most vulnerable.
All I know are tight hugs and sympathetic pats on the back.
No, I couldn't possibly fathom how much she's going through,
or how it feels to disclose your innermost sentiments to those around you.
Pondering whether to convey my thoughts into words which I know would clearly shatter her heart,
I'm too inexperienced, so I bite my tongue and hold her close.
I notice it's far from enough, but I know it'd only worsen if I truly tried.
I let out another sigh.

Exams are returned; and I'm fanatical.
I undeniably recall studying my precious sleep away for this one.
But as she hands mine back with pursed lips and a small shrug
I feel my heart drop from my ribcage.
My fingers shake and the lump in my throat triples in size each time
I think about how if they knew,
they'd shake their heads at me and reply once again
with another “I'm disappointed in you.”
I hate feeling like such a letdown,
closing my eyes to dam back the tears.
It'd be pathetic if I cry
so all I do is sigh.

Jubilantly flipping through pages of my marked test,
for once, I'm overjoyed with my achievement, thinking, they'd be proud.
When I turn around to see her merely satisfied with a mark eclipsing mine,
my fleeting feelings of assurance quickly diminish into nothing.
She does it so astoundingly effortlessly;
I wonder, would they be proud if she instead of I were their daughter?
The answer's painfully obvious, I no longer question why I'm so easily discouraged.
My eyes linger from pages filled with doodles
towards the upper right corner of the room where he normally resides.
Anticipating his returned gaze, I am unexpectedly greeted by his absence.
My heart stops and my excitement dies.
I sigh.

Routinely and cheerfully, he asks about my day
as if expecting to hear the same old, “good, what about yours?”
This time, I decide I'm tired of masking my feelings
behind a multitude of fake smiles and sugar-coated words.
Tentatively and apprehensively, I pour my heart out to him,
and despite that he says nothing, I stare into his eyes and see that he understands.
How completely wonderful it is to find someone
who fathoms the intricacy of feeling too much,
and knows how painful it is when you believe everyone around you 
sees you simply as a glass half full. 
Who knew one glance could exhume you, could bring you to life so easily?
Although he doesn't utter a single word, 
as he opens his arms wide and pulls me in, my consciousness withers
and I realize I'm simply a glass, nothing less.
For the first time in days, I gaze up at the dismal sky
I smile
and I sigh.

(RL)

Saturday 1 June 2013

Daisies.

Spring's lightly buttered, bittersweet popcorn
dainty gems freshly popped by Mother Nature
adorning the fields,
embellishing every patch of grass I walk past
Whispering,
Hey, pick me
See if he loves you back

Others see their pastel petals as silken ribbons
pearly white and yellow
delicately entwined with the springtime
their subtle beauty lacing the meadows

But not me.
In my eyes
they're hundreds of little paper twist ties confining my fingers,
Each wicked squeeze a permanent reminder,
imprisoning me with memories of August the year past
when I wasted my precious hours picking away at them
hoping I could change the feelings of a boy
Who speaks to me with words as I look at him with feelings
Who shatters my heart a little bit more every time he shakes his head
laughing, telling them, “She's just a friend.”

As if plucking off their limbs
could change the mind of a boy who tears me apart
each time he glances over his shoulder and gave me a thumbs up
as he interlocks his fingers with hers.
Each time ending
with me forcing back the lump in my throat
shaking my head no; it's not okay at all
only to see the back of his head.

But, how could I possibly confess to a boy,
who I've been unconditionally in love with for six years,
that he's caged butterflies in my stomach since day one?
That he's got me suffering through the intricacy of feeling too much?

If only I could change how he felt,
I most definitely would
these dainty little deceivers
left my heart and I trembling, whimpering
“I wish I could.”

I know better than to trust those posies,
those deceitful dime-sized delinquents
growing in a garden of green.
Because each of those
tiny white lies
have fifty-five petals.

(RL)

Sunday 19 May 2013

euphoria. (ver.1)


“What?”
I enquired,
when you looked into my eyes.
It seemed you stared into my soul
and saw my apprehensiveness.
With your adorable little head tilt, twice
your gaze lingered from my eyes
to my lips and back, as if seeking permission.
My heart jumped at the thought
of your lips meeting mine, then all at once,
I felt my consciousness quivering, then withering.
Because although my eyes were unintentionally
and humiliatingly forced open wide,
looking back at it all,
all I see is a blur of lips, and your lovely eyes.
But, as for when the moment ended,
not a single force on Earth
could make me forget your expression.
It seems as though you've caged the butterflies
that were fluttering about in my stomach.

Because, how could I possibly say
I get butterflies each time I think about it,
when they've never really left?

(RL)

Friday 17 May 2013

euphoria.

Wow...
Never had this feeling before.
It's been 8 hours since that moment,
yet I still get butterflies every time
I think about it.

Wednesday 8 May 2013

Story.



Been on a blogging hiatus for more than a month but too lazy to think of anything new; I suppose this will have to do for now...  x.x


One day, a man seemingly in his late twenties walked into Subway. His sordid appearance combined with the confidence in his strides caused the immediate acknowledgement of his presence. He was poorly dressed - wearing filthy, tattered clothing, and had a mess of knotted brown hair which had evidently been uncombed for days. Disregarding his filthiness and gruff demeanour, he was quite a handsome man with kindness shining from his eyes. He approached the server assuredly, nodded in greeting, and said without hesitation,
     “I'd like a foot long BLT, please. Extra cheese.”
Behind the counter, a girl quickly glanced up from a crossword puzzle in the daily newspaper she was in the midst of solving, stood up, and promptly adjusted her uniform. The server, with a sudden look of discomfort crossing her face, was undoubtedly alarmed by the homeless man's sudden request. She tentatively made the sandwich and placed the wrapped meal in front of the man.
     “That'd be twelve ninety-five, please.”
     “I have no money,” was the dishevelled man's certain reply.
     “I'm afraid I can't give customers food without payment, sir,” she replied graciously.
Unaffected by the girl's dismissal, the man continued to persist.
     “Even so, could you be so kind as to spare me a meal?”
In her mind, she knew she could do no such thing without receiving a thorough lecture as well as possibly being discharged. Nevertheless, the server was quite intrigued by the stranger's boldness. She looked him up and down, slowly examining his attire and estimating his level of intellect. Her coworker appeared from the back room, and after pushing a breakfast tray for a customer onto the counter, sauntered up to the man and scoffed,
     “Stop pestering the girl for free food. If you want the sandwich, take these eggs and hatch them into chickens for me,” he chortled, gesturing to the sunny-side up eggs on the plate in front of him, then glancing at his coworker haughtily.
     “Alright,” responded the man as he unzipped a pocket of his backpack and pulled out a can of baked beans.
     “Only once you plant these beans in that pile dirt and grow them into plants for me,” he replied, as he pointed to the pile of overcooked hash browns on the breakfast plate and looked up into the server's eyes. He grasped the sandwich on the counter and walked out of the store without another word, leaving the server with his mouth wide open.

The next day, the homeless man returned to the store at the very minute he had the day before. Behind the cash register was the male server, working alongside the girl he had met previously.
     “Thank you, miss. The sandwich was delicious,” the man began simply as he nodded his head.
     “However, could the kindness in your heart afford to spare me some breakfast?”
The girl's coworker sauntered up to the counter once again, carrying a tray of toast and eggs, presently displaying his annoyance towards the man's wild requests.
     “Excuse me, but one does not simply get free meals around here,” he huffed.
     “If you want breakfast, take these slice of flax bread and make me a coat out of it. Once you're done, show me and I'll give you this entire plate,” he said cockily, handing the homeless man two pieces of bread.
The man left the store without a word, then returned holding what appeared to be a frail, fallen tree branch. He approached the male server and handed him the branch. The ragged man spoke in a quite voice, without missing a beat.
     “Certainly, but first, you need to build me the proper sewing tools from this wood. How do you expect me to make a decent coat without tools?”
As the two servers stood wordless, the man picked up the plate of hot breakfast and calmly pushed open the store doors and departed once again.

The day after, the two servers nodded their heads in greeting from behind the counter the very moment the homeless man entered the store.
     “Good morning, sir. Perhaps you'd fancy another meal today?” the male server enquired loudly, attempting to hide his sly grin.
The tattered man gave the server a small smile.
     “Why, yes. I'm unusually thirsty today, so I'd like a drink. Perhaps a small coke?” he reciprocated, leaning onto the clean counter.
The server chuckled, as he handed the man an empty soft drink cup and lid.
     “But, of course,” he muttered, smirking at the homeless man. “I'm impressed by your cleverness; who'd expect that from a beggar?” he retorted, watching as the man's smile faded.
     “Take this cup and remove all the polluted water in the ocean. My uncle's going for a ride in his boat, and I'd hate for all the garbage to get in the way of his enjoyment,” the server discoursed sweetly.
The homeless man snatched the paper cup from the server's hand and left the store once again. He returned a few minutes later, holding a paper plate which had been obviously retrieved from a nearby trash can. He thrust the plate towards the man behind the counter, and spoke monotonously.
     “Absolutely, but you must dam up all the neigbouring rivers with this plate in order for me to do so. Otherwise, the polluted water in them would contaminate the ocean I just cleaned, no?”
As the male server was at a loss for words once again, the girl behind the counter rushed up to the homeless man.
     “You're a very intelligent man,” she squeaked. “Why are you are unemployed?”
The homeless man remained expressionless.
     “I'd very much like a job, however, I am an orphan and was left on the streets for as long as I can recall,” he asserted faintly, staring into the girl's bright eyes.

The girl looked intently into the man's eyes, then finally reached for her newspaper and leaned close to his ear.
     “Here's the deal. I'm extremely close to finishing this crossword puzzle; I only need to figure out the answer to this one question. My uncle's the CEO of this company, so if you want me to get you a job here, help me solve it,” the girl murmured, as she began to read aloud from the paper.
     “Greater than God and more evil than the devil. The poor have it, the rich need it and if you eat it you'll die. What is it?”
She watched the man attentively for a few seconds until he opened his mouth to speak.
     “Nothing,” he responded monotonously.
The girl leaned forward on the counter, her brain in the midst of processing the man's answer. She began fill the empty boxes of the crossword with letters, and of course, as predicted, he was correct.
The homeless man was introduced to the girl's uncle, who recognized the man's intelligence and potential, and was offered a job as a server at the Subway store.
The man thanked the CEO's niece several times, and said,
     “I have no home or any money at all, but I am extremely hardworking. So, if I am ever laid off or fired by your uncle and am forced to leave, may I take from this place the thing I love most?”
The girl smiled up at him.
     “But, of course.”

After many, many years, the diligent man eventually worked his way from a server to a manager, to becoming a CEO of the company. Soon after, he married the girl who had worked alongside him for so many years and they remained in a happy marriage for nearly a decade. However, one day, when the man discovered his wife had been cheating on him, he applied for a divorce. He began to pack his bags, and when he was done, he entered the Subway store he had once worked for in order to say one last farewell.
When his wife entered, he stared at her with a vacant expression.
     “You promised me before that you'd let me take the thing I loved most, correct?” he stated coldly, glancing away quickly to break the uncomfortable eye contact between them.
His wife clasped her hands together, then tugged at her husband's jacket, her voice cracking.
     “Correct, but I never meant for things to end this way. Forgive me please, and take me back. You're the one I love.”
The man gave his wife a quick nod and broke away from her grip. He reached from behind the counter, unhooked the coffee maker worth ten grand he had purchased for the store several years ago, tipped his hat and bid the woman farewell before he pushed open the store door without another word. 

Monday 1 April 2013

School.

I don't even know what I should feel - excited because I get to see him at last after two long weeks of waiting, or stressed out from the untouched math homework that I'll have to hand in tomorrow... or sad, because, well, school.

Saturday 30 March 2013

Where's the motivation?

I haven't been or felt this lazy since last summer, and I'm genuinely worried it won't go away.  My future,  hopes, and dreams depend on my grades, and right now I absolutely can not focus on anything.  I've noticed, each time I try to finish my schoolwork I end up procrastinating somehow.  Even now, I have my neglected English essay open in another window and I'm unconsciously doing everything I can not to work on it.  I hate feeling so useless but I can't seem to get my drive back.  Hopefully, this is just a typical teenage phase and I'll go back to normal soon.  If I don't, I can just see my ambitions and my entire future going down the drain.

Friday 29 March 2013

Silently.

Whenever we text or message each other, I can see your affection towards me.  A few words from you can make my day, and whenever I see you my face lights up.  Sometimes, I feel a little spoiled, being able to have someone who has such strong feelings for me.  You gave me love when I needed it most, and you saw me when I was invisible.  This may sound cheesy, but I can't even find the words to express my gratitude towards you.

When I'm alone, I always think of you and smile. There are times when I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.  You're probably never going to see this, but I hope you already know my feelings toward you.  I really like you; I just suck at showing it.

Tu me manques.

How long has it been? Fourteen days?

Fourteen days since I last heard your voice and spent time with you, yet it seems like forever.  Honestly, this is one of the few times I'm really looking forward to going back to school.  Ever since January, spring break was all I looked forward to; I wished time would fly past just so I could get away from all the social and academic stress in that hell hole.  But, now that it's finally come, I can honestly say that I hate it.  I wish it would end quickly so I can see you again.  I've always loathed school - how much of a popularity contest it is; how everyone does better than me & how I always end up feeling like crap at some point in the day. So, you must be one heck of an amazing person to make me feel this way.