 Thursday, March 24, 2005
He looked to his left, and she was gone. Moments before she closed the door behind her, the most tearful exchanges were made. They both knew that this was, for their own good, the last time they were going to see each other. Although both wanted to, the last kiss was withheld with great fury, for they knew that indulging would mean more pain. Hours before, they shared the most silent meal. He recalled all their meals together, happy that these thoughts did not escape him; sad, for this would be their last. She looked at him with great sadness not knowing what to say or do. This last meal was also their longest. A few days ago they were out. They were holding hands, with him occasionally stealing kisses, absolutely oblivious to the crowd that stared. She hated what he did; she loved him for doing it. Years ago, they shared the same classroom, pushing pencils and poring through their books. He approached her, nervous to the bone, and asked her. She found him odd yet intriguing. She obliged. He looked at her one last time before he released his foot from the brakes. She did not look back. He drove away slowly, reaching for his handkerchief from his back pocket. Thursday, March 24, 2003 They were sitting, leaning on the walls of the hallway, both feeling too awkward to speak. His head was never still. His glance shifted from the ground to the end of the hall to her face, fixated for a minute, then back to the ground again. He knew he had to speak and time was running out. She had more willpower than him, as she stared at the exit sign. The green exit sign illuminated the long hallway. The power was not out, yet they were almost in total darkness, save the sign. She was waiting for him to speak, among other things. The light of the elevator glowed. He became desperate. He knew he never really had the guts to tell her anything. He knew he was selfish. He did not know what to say. He stared at her. The light of the elevator blinked. He gently put his hand on top of hers. She stared back at him. Or tried to. She couldn't look at his eyes. She just couldn't. The elevator opened. She stood up hurriedly, and walked towards the elevator. Someone was waiting. She hugged him, kissed him, gripped his hand. She gave her past one last glance. He was still staring. "Thanks for keeping her company, man. I owe you one." "Hey. Anytime, dude." "..." Monday, February 25, 2002 I have a story. This is a story about a he and a she. She would always invite him to her birthday parties. That was the only time they ever saw each other, him and her. The one day of the year where they had the chance to talk. But, they never did. For him, the mere sight of her made his day, his week, his year. That was enough for him. He would always come, he never missed a year. He was terribly attracted to her, in every way possible. She was pretty, smart, athletic, funny, talkative. He was a coward. He never had the guts to tell her how he felt. He had a hard time talking to her. That was his weakness. He was also blind. She liked him. Maybe just a little bit, but there was something, alright. A little crush, you may call it. And she always looked forward to that time of the year when she would turn a year older, see him once again, and hopefully get something out of him. She would wait year after year, but the confession did not come. She was to wait in vain. She felt that he did not care for her. "His silence would mean apathy and rejection," she would always think. She could never have been so wrong. He cared for her greatly; more than anything, more than anyone. But his flaw took over him. He took no action. He just observed from far away, secretly hoping that everything would turn out fine. But things did not go well for him. She became too tired of waiting for nothing. She was dissappointed that he was not doing anything. And for the first time ever, she did not wait for him. But still, he came. Still, he hoped. He never knew that he too, was hoping in vain. That night, a striking "No." echoed through the room they were in. She wept. She ran upstairs. He was heartbroken. The following year was the first he failed to arrive. And for some reason, she didn't care at all. She was over him. |