0077: "I close my eyes..."
It's been four years now. Four years of watching, of waiting, of seeing you as you once were and now are, of growing up amidst the numerous problems that beset us all back then, from buying a recorder to rejected STR proposals.
Four years I've watched you and you know what?
I can't seem to stop.
I don't know why I can't. We've never been close. We've always been like those ships that go past each other in the night, never noticing each other as we sail by, except that I do notice, and I'm the only one who does.
If I had one wish, it would be to forget this.
What is "this?" It's the denseness you possess, the impenetrable skull you possess that keeps you from understanding me. It's the way you walk past me every school day and not notice the blush that suffuses across my cheeks as you pass by. It's the way one smile from you makes my day so much better even if I've just failed a long test. It's the measuring glance you give me when you catch me making a fool of myself.
Plain and simple, I guess, I want to forget about you. Yes, you heard me right. I want to forget about you.
I want to forget you.
Other people would notice if they had such an effect on anyone. My friends have noticed that I'm only a combination of happy-miserable when you're around, although they haven't really cornered me about it yet. (Thanks guys, you know I love you.) Even the classmates I never wish I had from long before I met you noticed how much I've changed because of you, of this silly immature love that won't die even after almost four years of living. Even my teachers, even the ones I suspect are half-blind, see it. Why can't you?
Oh yes. You're dense. Pour the ice cubes down the back of your clothes and I bet you still wouldn't wake up from your mid-afternoon nap. Turn off the computer monitor and you'll still be staring at it, never minding its sudden blankness.
Wake up, get out of bed, try and take a shower. I doubt it'll make you smell better than you usually do, but at least it's an attempt. Not that your smell drives me away, because love means having a cold when the person you love stinks.
I'm tired. I'm so tired of everything that once was. I'm even more tired of everything that now is.
Most of all, I'm tired of everything that will never be.
But I can't blame you. After all, after all these years you're still the boy-man I fell in love with back in English in first year - tall, slightly pale, and the boy who slept in English class. It's not you who changed, but me. I'm the one who grew up from back then, taking off those rose-tinted glasses and blooming in my own awkward way, trying to make something change between us, trying to make you look at me differently from what you saw back then.
In the end, even if I wish I had never met you, I still am happy to have seen you again and again these past years. Why?
You still remind me, day by day, of the reasons why I fell in love with you.
So let me close my eyes, let me see you as you were back then and as you are right now, because even if they take everything else away from me they cannot take my dreams of you away.
Four years I've watched you and you know what?
I can't seem to stop.
I don't know why I can't. We've never been close. We've always been like those ships that go past each other in the night, never noticing each other as we sail by, except that I do notice, and I'm the only one who does.
If I had one wish, it would be to forget this.
What is "this?" It's the denseness you possess, the impenetrable skull you possess that keeps you from understanding me. It's the way you walk past me every school day and not notice the blush that suffuses across my cheeks as you pass by. It's the way one smile from you makes my day so much better even if I've just failed a long test. It's the measuring glance you give me when you catch me making a fool of myself.
Plain and simple, I guess, I want to forget about you. Yes, you heard me right. I want to forget about you.
I want to forget you.
Other people would notice if they had such an effect on anyone. My friends have noticed that I'm only a combination of happy-miserable when you're around, although they haven't really cornered me about it yet. (Thanks guys, you know I love you.) Even the classmates I never wish I had from long before I met you noticed how much I've changed because of you, of this silly immature love that won't die even after almost four years of living. Even my teachers, even the ones I suspect are half-blind, see it. Why can't you?
Oh yes. You're dense. Pour the ice cubes down the back of your clothes and I bet you still wouldn't wake up from your mid-afternoon nap. Turn off the computer monitor and you'll still be staring at it, never minding its sudden blankness.
Wake up, get out of bed, try and take a shower. I doubt it'll make you smell better than you usually do, but at least it's an attempt. Not that your smell drives me away, because love means having a cold when the person you love stinks.
I'm tired. I'm so tired of everything that once was. I'm even more tired of everything that now is.
Most of all, I'm tired of everything that will never be.
But I can't blame you. After all, after all these years you're still the boy-man I fell in love with back in English in first year - tall, slightly pale, and the boy who slept in English class. It's not you who changed, but me. I'm the one who grew up from back then, taking off those rose-tinted glasses and blooming in my own awkward way, trying to make something change between us, trying to make you look at me differently from what you saw back then.
In the end, even if I wish I had never met you, I still am happy to have seen you again and again these past years. Why?
You still remind me, day by day, of the reasons why I fell in love with you.
So let me close my eyes, let me see you as you were back then and as you are right now, because even if they take everything else away from me they cannot take my dreams of you away.