Journal post.

Let me spill the contents of my heart.

The first time I encountered you.

would be the first time I saw you.

My first impression was: "This guy is awfully quiet."

You actually didn't matter.

You were the same as everybody else.

You were nobody.

I was foolish to think that way.

It was that time,

that you were the second person who gave me something to think about.

Maybe I reminded you of who you used to be.

Maybe I perked your interest.

Maybe you pitied me, who don't say much.

Whatever the reason.

You talked to me first.

The second encounter was when the joke began.

You started holding my hands.

This was round about the first time, I felt that.

Flirting.

This is how being flirted feels like.

My virgin mind went haywire.

I started to feel consciousness.

I realized things such as femininity.

Relationships.

Connections.

Infatuations.

Uncertainties.

Most of all,

Me.

I never got to know myself, more than I do now.

You caused quite a stir, that you've made me changed this much.

From then on.

Things became haywired.

Everytime you look,

in my mind's eye, all I could perceive was your eyes.

I struggle.

I want to talk to you.

I wanted to reach you.

I wanted to be myself when I'm with you.

But wanting and doing are two different things.

I couldn't talk to you.

I couldn't think.

I ignore you most of the time.

I can't look at you in the face, thinking about how I would look.

It was like, a force field that surrounds you.

There is a barrier between us.

We are different.

Completely.

Aside from that attraction on my side.

nothing more.

I started to acquire the interest that you have.

I wanted to look into things in your perspective.

I wanted everyday to see you.

I wanted to sit with you.

I wanted to talk to you. Break the ice.

It's becoming hard to just be in your presence.

I don't want you to think that I am boring.

I don't want you to leave because I didn't do anything.

You are my caffeine.

I hope you could understand that.

I wrote you that poem.

I thought of you, more than anyone else when I wrote it.

Even so,

after what everyone keeps telling me.

"Don't expect."

I reply that I don't.

I keep telling myself that I wasn't.

That I was hoping.

It was all lies.

I love you.

I wonder how many times I wrote that with a person in mind.

I like this person romantically. He's the one.

I hope you're different.

I hope you'll be the one to break this unhealthy habit.

It's eating me.

Teaching me that humanity is supposed to impose upon me the knowledge that we were meant to fall in love infinitely many times without that person loving you back.

Because frankly speaking, I'm getting tired of having people pass by without giving me a second glance.

I want to live with the assurance that there was someone out there waiting for me.

<20Aug2011>