gawd

i think i may love him.

i love everything about him.. my heart leaps a 100 meters higher than any number you [ or me ] can think off.

i want to talk to him all the time

i miss him badly.

i miss his kindly face

i miss his smile

it's his birthday tomorrow. 3 november. i wish i can be there with him.

i'm elated he's not drinking. he doesn succumb to other people's coercion easily. too easily.

i'm elated.

i love him.

i really do. 

Honestly

I am hanging out with them only with fervent high hopes that he will appear out of nowhere and sent us into fits of laughter, and yes, so my eyes will be pleased at the sight of him.

Lunch.

I tapped my foot silently as my eyes remained fixated on my spaghetti, my mind subconsciously twirling the noodle on my fork. I sighed and sighed yet again and made everyone fell into a somber mood, joining in my little silent, icy coven. Friend muttered where is he. I wanted to scream, YES where the freaking hell is he???

But I didn't. Because I kept thinking. Where will this go should it happen, which it won't because he is seemingly and obviously entertaining, talking, joking, patting more with my friend rather than with me. My hopes dangled on the end of a sharp stick, with the middle part threatening to snap into half, thus snapping the inner part as well: my heart.

How long and how many times have I been in and out of this unrequited love phase?

Far too many times to be bothered to count  at all.

The air was tense, with only the buzzing of what's hanging in the air in my ears.

Then, he appeared, striding confidently with a sleeveless shirt and three quarter pants; and with a look of exhaustion smeared across his face. My heart jumped out and knocked against my ribs and my face lit up, though I gave no sign that a smile was about to creep up to my face and be sewn into its rightful place.

The first thing he asked when he reached the table was for my friend.

My fork dropped. My heart dropped. My face fell. My hopes crashed into minute pieces. My mood returned to its usual moodiness. My foot stopped tapping and I stopped thinking.

How could he. How could he. How could he! Should he not be looking for me? Should he not ask how am I? Should he not probe further and started questioning me for my utter, unbelievable, despicable show of tormented facial expressions last night?

How dense could he be??

I kept quiet. My desire to launch into an elated conversation with sunny sunshine and 7 colors of the rainbow diminished, dissipated, vanished. He sat beside me. I was longing for him to pop the question.

An eternity : Are you okay?

I nodded lightly, unsure of whether to lie or tell the truth. Could he still not see I belied him into thinking I was Red Riding Hood about to prance about in the forest? Could he not see I was torn between everything and him and anguish stirring up my living soul, sending it into turmoil and waves crashing against the hard boulders of my cold heart?

Yet seemingly after asking me that, I searched his eyes, all the while catching snips of the rest of his face, his tufts of transparent beard and mustache, his glinting earring and his eyebrows and finally rested on his pupils. There lies only obligations and hurt in his eyes. Hurt for me, questioning looks for him.

Our elbows touched for a second as my nerves sent me into a shiver. The pain in my ribs sounded clearly. It wasn't the physical pain that hurt so badly now, it was the tear of my heart and the little leaks of bloody red liquid dripping onto the organs. It wasn't the sound of people talking that sent me into a frenzy, it was the sound of the rips of everything in my body. I wished to sob while slurping the pepsi, I wanted so badly to drop everything I held and run out of the cafeteria, running as fast as I can, as long as I can, as soon as I can, to escape the pain, to tire myself till there was no feeling filling up that little space in the corner as only hurt and pain floated in the midst; in the air.

We walked and walked. I began to see his muscles much clearly in the sunlight. Gawd knows how stupid I was to follow him still after everything I felt in the helluva cafeteria. He began to tell stories of his drunken night and how could he had even came back home, drunk to the pits of his core and wonder what had happen on that incredible night. I winced as he recall. The bad boy stuff. The bad boy attitude.

We reached the common room and I could hardly lighten up as long as he was there. He pushed, probed deeper this time. Nothing spurted from my mouth except wonderfully woven and crafted lies. My eyes lied. My voice was hardly mine. My heart was shrinking back into its thrown, dusty corner. And yet I was somehow still smiling telling everyone I'm thinking about something, I was in deep thoughts. Yet I wasn't.

It was when he caught hold of my cap was I only feeling that, maybe he cared for me somehow, little bit. A little is better than nothing. But how could I settle for little when I wanted more. A concern expression, a worried expression. I pried his fingers open and begged for him to release my possession. I felt as if I was accosting up to him but yet I enjoyed every moment of this trivial, laughable matter with him. He was funny, that's undeniable.

My heart gladdened but I knew this was not something I thought it was. I strode to the red door as quickly as I could before they could block me again and with a fake smile on my face, I told them, See you later. I left with a smile on my face...

but with a heavy heart that aches.