Archive for December, 2012

So staying up late and gulping down caffeines kind of makes me feel like being drunk okay. And this spinning Story of Pine is not getting me nowhere because my life is already in chaos.

So it’s like, life is short okay? That’s why we stay up late and smoke weeds and hook up and have fun and cry and laugh at the same time right? How could you even have time to ponder about what to do? Like, after all the times I’ve fucked up I’m trying my best to be patient, because “Patient is a fucking virtue” they said, but NO I CAN’T!

Do you know how hard it is to not say the words? I mean, no matter who or what you are it’s still a freaking burden to keep it all to yourself, your feelings, your twisted longing to touch to kiss to inhale to memorize that object of infatuation who’s driving you nuts. It’s not those kind of burdens that help you fly like wings, no. They’re like lead in your blood, like cement that concreted around your legs that pulls you down so deep so far gone. Keeping them within is like holding your breath, holding it for so long that your body begins to tremble, and starts to seize, and you’d end up being suffocated by your own breath.

So no, it has to be done, and said, and shouted out to the world right? So he/she would know, and for a moment hopefully that person would appreciate your love, before they brush it off their shoulders like a breath of snow.

These thoughts actually pump me up and make me just wanna run up and kiss him there tomorrow at work. Or I could be more secluded, I would walk with him to his apartment that night, staying safe in the coat of night, saying the words in a veil of frost, that I want him, I want us. How I would stake it all for only a fragment of hope. Yet that, is not how things work.

Considering how things were first looked over and pondered for months, why did I decided to remain silent anyway? Given unrequited lust would torture my soul, how sure I am that being rejected would not kill me?

For the worst bet as it is and the stakes are high, there’d be possibility that the moment our lips touch, all hell’d break loose. There’d be screaming and pushing and fighting, and fire, and hail of hatreds. And all would break, burn, and end.

No, I wouldn’t be happy with that either.

Indeed, I’d be devastated.

So might I seal it up, and take it slow. And might I find a way to put it down, or at least turn it into something smoldering, something that wouldn’t burst out from inside and flare up my rib cage, turn me into ashes from the inside out.

Might I find a way to settle for the second best. Because being friends feels good. And as good as it could be, we might have some accidentally on purpose touching, or brushing. Or for some moments let the common senses of personal space fall into oblivion, we could put out lips so close, would study our own reflections in each other’s eyes, and as long as our lips don’t touch, all will be fine. And that’d be as good. That’s be the second best.

And we might as well get there, to the closeness we craved, to have red strings hooked everywhere, but never attached.

If not this way, then another way.


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Some mad hopes.

want our hello/goodbye hugs to be a few beats longer than a casual friend hug,
but never so long that it becomes a lovers embrace.

I had a chance to see for the first time of my life the violet sunset at the beach when I went on my reclusive trip to Cancun on thanksgiving. If I hadn’t see it I wouldn’t have believed that the thing actually existed. The burning lights when the sun went down reflected with the blue water created a very warm, soothing color. The color of magic and mysteries and nostalgia, it coated the whole view as if somebody had casted a spell and let it spread out to the endless sea. The beauty left me stunned in awe of how precious nature could be, and at the same time, filled me up with some mad hopes.

Magic, myths, superheroes…those are just the emphasizing of dreams and hopes of human kind, for things that were hard, irrational or even lunatic, to become easier to believe in. There are hopes that boosts our thoughts, gives us strength and encourages us to keep on. There are also hopes that kills us, tearing us apart but we can’t chase them away just because we can’t stop those who keeps pouring them in. Because it is painfully easy how a small spark could just simply ignite the explosion of the jammed damp, blowing them all off for hope to rush in, flooding our mind and drowning us.

That spark could simply be a brush, a smile, or just some unintended teases or flirtations that would start it. It could be the shortest of a “goodnight” text, no punctuation, no capitalization. It could be the longest of the 240 miles distant conversation which was only about how pretty the stars were and how the signal sucked staying in the cabin. It would just simply start it. A small candle light that lit up the condensed darkness that we had tried so hard blocking all the lights from coming in, to keep us from longing for the greatest good. From dreaming instead of sleeping.

One should acknowledge that giving out hopes is a crime. Especially when such hopes would do nothing but lead the others to nowhere, and they would soon exhaust and break and cease to exist on the road of self-deluding.

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