Impatience (or a strong desire to see you right now)

To you,

I really can't wait to meet you and fall in love again. It's 3:30 AM and I really should be sleeping but damn, I'm wide awake because the thought of holding your hand with my cold, clammy ones excite me. (I am sorry, I have poor blood circulation.) I can't wait to laugh and cry with you.

I can't wait to be with you.

I'm beyond ecstatic. My stomach is full of butterflies because envisioning how we will be together fuels me to go beyond and take risks. Right now, as I type this on my keyboard, I realize that I would like trace your cheek bones, the corners of your eyes, the tip of your nose, and the plumpness of your lips against my fingers for a long, long time. I might even want to kiss you, and explore the wonders of your soul until the sun awakes from his sleep. (Actually, I might never want to stop. I am full of greed when it comes to grasping every part of you.) I will not get bored. Even a bookish person who spends her Friday nights with words desires to be with someone she recognizes - she likes, she loves. Trust me, you are the end all and be all of all the heroes and the princes that I've read.

We won't be perfect. You and I will make mistakes. We will ride through bumps and rough patches that will make us want to stop the car. But I believe in you, in us. We will respect our boundaries, and understand our limitations. We will be off to the horizon even when Disney songs end, together. (I cannot tell you how much I love the sound of 'we' and 'together'. We. Together. We are together.)

I am so excited to love you deeply. (I just really can't wait to see you.)

2:30 PM

Anonymous said: Tell me a story, darling.

She looks at him as though he is her whole world.

Every day, the ocean-eyed lass chooses the second row seat nearest to the window just to get a glimpse of his rusty, brown hair every time he walks by at exactly 2:30 pm. While the wall clock’s hands have not grasped the time she is waiting for, she pretends to listen to her ancient English teacher whose voice came from the renaissance. She scribbles notes about Shakespeare, and doodles roses while her mind is far away from the lectures about E.E Cummings’ poems. She simply exists as the class wallflower, aware but not participating.

However, when the boy with the rusty, brown hair struts away dutifully during 2:30 pm, she blooms like the sun. Her back straightens, her eyes sparkles with focus, and her mind wakes up from the fairytale illusions she sleeps with. Her neck would turn at 45 degrees to the right, and suddenly, quite suddenly, the world is such a lovely place to live in. 

--

Note: Published this short story two years ago on my tumblr blog. 

Word Vomit: Two weeks.

Sitting here inside the warm coffee shop with Yiruma playing his keys to my ear, I realized that this moment would have been perfect - would transcend the large block of almost - if you were here.

You, who brought out irrational words from my controlled temper. You, who would simply stare at the windows as your mind wanders off and goes to journeys only you will know. You, who looked at me like I am some kind of beautiful anomaly that randomly walked into the scenery. Not that I am saying I am beautiful but you make me feel that I am. You, who made me stirred from my dreamless slumber. You, who I cannot categorize.

I am not a writer of candied pieces. I tackle tragedy, despair, yearning and unrequitedness of things because they were the ones I am familiar with. But you - the mere presence of you - whisper sweet nothings to my addled mind.

Autumn is coming. I hope you stay, if only for a while.

Repetition

Life surprised me the day I met you.

I went to school grumpy that morning, as any Tuesday or Thursday mornings were, routinely complaining to the world why the hell did it create 7:30 classes and next, cursing myself to oblivion for not sleeping earlier. I entered the cafeteria with my one-track mind telling me to order the usual coffee I consume and to stay at one of the inconspicuous tables. Deeply sighing, I walked towards the refrigerator, got my drink of choice, paid the cashier, uttered "Good Morning!" to a passing colleague and quickly spotted a seat. As I daze through the whole process, I noticed for a second (or maybe 2?) that you ordered ham and cheese sandwich instead of your usual Champorado.

Wow, you broke your own rhythm, I wanted to tell you. Of the six days I saw you, this was the first time you had a different vibe; it seemed like the beats of your footsteps changed. You usually get in line next to me, that's why I observed that you have (well, had) a cycle too.

When I finally settled down at my place of the day, a strange urge made me look at the direction of the cashier. I pushed down the thoughts and the little gusto I felt, reminding myself that I am not a person who sneaks glances but makes contact.

Apparently, we're the same.

Exactly 2 minutes and 34 seconds after I convinced myself not to search for your familiar figure, I heard the quiet, clattering sound of the tray hitting my table. My head snapped at the direction of the noise, and there you are, smiling. You removed your earphones, and asked, "Mocha, again?"