the spin of a dial, to varied distances.
the rhythmic rings, like morse repeats.
the familar click, but dreaded release.
the echoes of a voice, layered upon itself.

another heart calls, but there is no answer.
leave a message, or call back later.

I'm on the edge, where the slightest movement crumbles rocks beneath my feet, as they free fall like sky divers cutting through the air. They grow moist from their descent into dark rumblings clouds, and burst forth like rain from the heavens. Drafts of wind fuelled by the changes in temperature play with them, tossing them about. Disoriented, they fall into a canopy of green, massive and tall trees with branches thick as roman pillars. It breaks their fall, but without mercy. Each collision results in a violent smack, and a resounding echo throughout. The final approach, an explosive shatter, digging deep into the mud. It changes, but little is left to be seen.

I'm on the edge, and all I need is your touch; a simple push, into a short-lived freedom.

at the hour after sunrise.

on the sardine tin can train that has a 4 minute frequency, even though many people go to work at this hour.

the doors open and fat people just assume there's space. They barge in, and those inside step backwards without looking. Not to mention some of them stink of yesterday's work and play. You have a hard time maintaining balance because there's nothing to hold on to, except the sweaty limbs of strangers. Taking up yoga lessons would help here.

at the eleventh hour.

on the double deckered bus that reeks of old wrinkled feet, dry piss, condensed faecal gas and tiger balm, you observe weird people.

A fat old lady with an ass so wide she has to sit in between two seats, with the raised bump that demarcates the two into ones wedged up her crotch. It's like if the bus hit a bumpy road, even an old hag like her would get some for once in a long time.

There's a working class man, dress pants polo-shirt shoes and socks, sitting in the middle of the back seat with his right leg crossed and resting on his left thigh. He effectively blocks one seat from being taken, and inconveniences a man from getting to the window seat. He proudly bares his leg hair, like it's something worth showing off. Say hello to chewbacca.

There's an old man sitting at the edge where the standing area is. His slippers are off, and he turns to let his feet dangle in the air. Probably trying to dry off the sweat that formed between the ridges of his toes. Sure adds to the funky smell of the air-conditiong.

Then there's an auntie who went shopping at some cheap department store that has huge paper bags that just can't seem to rest on her lap, so she places it on the seat beside, like a child. A bastard one, off the shelf, 50% off with reward points.

Lastly, a douche bag who refuses to move in and stands next to the farecard machine. He must surely think he is the bus conductor, making sure everyone taps their ez-link cards.

that you punched me over a few cents.
that you kicked my heels as I walked and confronted me as though I was in the wrong.
that you pretended; a pat on my back but you had a knife in your hand, and you didn't even bother to explain.
that you made me feel like shit.

as easy to forget, as easy to remember.
like filth and slosh, that occasionally washes upon the shores, leaving rot and retch to mar the scene. you leave your trail in the sand, but the same wave comes and takes it away.

and that's all you're worth; a bitter memory.

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Poised, preened, poignant and passive. Proper posture preserved in portrait.

Plastered pieces of printed parchment, pressed perfect by partial pressure.

Particular, pristine, painted over green, plural patterns pique perception.

A penchant for privilege and prerogative, promulgated through pyrotechnics.

A pyre of plastic picturesque, a pink personal effect procured.

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I will hold on for as long as you won't let go.

I'm not cut out for these things; but carve my heart out and make it work.

I doubt.

I think.

I think.

I think think think.

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"thanks for the knife in my back. now i have it, you watch yours."

i wouldn't confront, because i hate confrontations. anyway, it's long over. the conflict is no longer relevant. 

i forgive, but NEVER forget.

This is somewhat like a report of my Hong Kong trip with four friends, so you might want to brace yourself before reading this because it's rather long and maybe it would be boring but if you have loads of time to kill, be my guest!

 

( Unravel what's unsaid... )

181009, Day 1:
 

The flight is terrible. The seats were lined up so close to one another I could smell the manicure an older woman was using to decorate her nails. So much for restricting inflammable liquids. There wasn't much room for stretching my legs, I had to slouch in my seat, or twist to face the mis-aligned window.

I was sleep deprived from keeping mostly vigil at ivan's place before getting to the airport via car, courtesy of shawn's mother. The three of us were to leave earlier in the morning, and ivan would meet up with us in Tung Chung, Pacific City Centre. Shawn packed last minute, and brought the wrong passport, one that has been hole-punched. Immigration let him through after some deliberation.

In the plane we were rather excited, chatting and all till take-off. I took some photos, and quickly got bored when the sun was shining directly through my window. I pulled down the cover. The cabin lights dimmed and sleep came over us, and we drifted off steadily into its arms.

Turbulence. The sudden tremblings shook us awake. Jetstar's seats are terribly uncomfortable. I drifted in and out of slumber. It felt long, that flight. Though it was only 4 hours, but it felt ridiculously long. It's like waiting to book out after a nothing-to-do day in camp. The pilot announced over the broadcast that we were about to land. Finally. The plane accelerated and dived. I fiddled with the camera for quite sometime I missed most of the landing, save the bumpy part when the wheels scorched the tarmac. We got off the plane and took a wide bus to the Hong Kong International Airport.

Immigration. Davin and I got through with much ease. Shawn on the other hand, was detained. The immigration officer refused to let him through, so that's a five hour wait for him, till ivan arrives with his renewed passport. That leaves two of us to explore the nearby Pacific City Centre.

We took a bus from the airport, and we kept looking out for the shopping centre because ivan told us it's one stop from the airport. It wasn't. The first stop was the expo convention hall area, just like in Singapore. We sat in the bus and kept a look out, till we realised, when the bus turned in to the interchange, that the shopping centre was at the end of the bus service. Upon arrival, hand carry luggage in hand, we went shopping. Most shops proved disappointing: it's either you've seen the same thing in Singapore, or it doesn't catch your fancy. With designated money to spend, we are braver, and we patronise the higher end fashion shops. I ended up buying a burberry polo tee. I wonder if it's cheaper or same price in Singapore, but most likely, hopefully, not.

After much exploration, and purchasing of toothbrush and toothpaste and shaver(I forgot to bring), we walked to Food Republic and had lunch, and waited for quite some time for shawn and ivan. Impatience got to us, so we went to walk outside the mall to look for a calling card so that we can call ivan or shawn. We found one at 7-11, which they call, "qi, shi yi" in mandarin, which is actually "71". They didn't pause at the comma. When we got the card and called shawn, he was already cleared, and ivan was with him. We then met at Food Republic again.

Shawn had lunch, then the two who recently arrived went shopping around Pacific City. Davin and I had already explored most of the mall so we were rather bored. Ivan spent a considerable amount of time in Puma.

We all bought Octopus cards and took their MTR to Yau Ma Tei, which was where our hotel was. The dude at the service counter was rather curt in his replies. Our rooms were on level two. Awesome. We ditched most of our stuff then headed out again, this time to Shatin, New Town plaza. We had to change train lines a few times, and it didn't help that ivan(who knew the place well) brought us to Shatin Wai instead of Shatin. Wai is like the outskirts, so it wasn't where the shopping centre was. We took the train back and went the right way this time. The good thing about the Hong Kong MTR is that the frequency is 2 minutes average, rush hour or not. We got to the mall and did out routine shopping. Ate dinner at some cheap restaurant where you had to fight for seats. Then we continued to look at shops and browse their clothes. Our feet soon grew sore, I suffered a mild gastric, and we were still weary from being up since early early morning. We left for Mongkok via MTR.

We visited the Ladies Street, Sports Street and Electronics Street. Nothing much to buy, or see. It felt like Bugis Street. The Sports Street was like a copy-paste of the same shops in rows and rows, just that the shopkeepers and assistants vary. We chanced upon Gelare, which was within walking distance from our hotel. Tempted, but didn't go in. We had Burger King floats instead, which were awesome.

We walked back to our hotel and had good rest.

191009, Day 2:
We woke up later than scheduled, got dressed and boarded a bus to Tsim Sha Tsui, took the Star Ferry to Hong Kong Islands, Central. The ride was a different experience, but nothing fantastic. Just to give you bragging rights, "yeah, I've sat it before", so that you don't miss out something you're supposed to do when you get to Hong Kong, to make your trip worth its while. We entered International Financial Centre, and we looked at the shopping directory for breakfast. Shawn asked the security guard for reccomendations, and my eyes followed his fingers, sliding down different eateries till it hit 'Pret A Manger'. I immediately decided for the four of us, breakfast shall be there. It is after all, awesome and delicious food! I hungered for it after it closed it shutters for the last time in Singapore, Raffles Place. As expected, same great taste, oh what taste to behold once again. There was free wifi, so I emailed my mother to tell her I'm still in one piece, though I can't say the same about the thousand dollar bill she changed for me. More shopping, and we had ice cream at "Ice Scream", some gelato kind of shop. I had NUTELLA!

We took the MTR to Causeway Bay, walked abit and found Sogo, once a shopping mall in Singapore. We had lunch at one of the coffee shops in the vicinity. Then we found two awesome boutique shops where I bought a shirt, two tees and one cardigan. This day was beginning to feel more awesome than yesterday. We walked more, and found ourselves in Fashion Walk! All the branded stores you can think of, they're here. It's like ION Orchard, but on the streets. The shops are built into the first three floors of random high rise residential buildings. The posh, stylish and clean, a stark contrast to the old, dull and stained walls of the residential buildings.

Next was Times Square. We were looking for Fred Perry shops and found one there. We walked around the area shopped at Uniqlo. Not the one we were looking for so we left. Apparently there's a five-storey Uniqlo in Hong Kong somewhere, as per ivan. We then took the MTR to Jordan, and walked to Langham Place. Found H&M, but a quick exploration led us to conclude it was an all female shop. We were disappointed. I made a mental note to complain to my friend who told me to shop here for H&M. We took two long escalators up to the top, then walked the spiral steps down as we looked at the shops. Got back down, and still, refusing to accept the fact, shawn asked the sales person at H&M whether there was a guy's section. There was! Mental note crushed and thrown away. The guy's section was tucked in one separate corner, that had a narrow walkway. No wonder we missed it. Ironic thing is that we found nothing to buy. Tired, we went back to our hotel for some respite, dumped our shopping bags.

After about half an hour, we left for Tsim Sha Tsui again, this time in search for the five storey Uniqlo. Didn't find it after walking endlessly around the area, so we made our way to Avenue of Stars, saw the colourful Hong Kong skyline, and waited for a laser show that didn't come. It drizzled but we didn't care. We then entered one of the Sogo departmental stores, walked around abit then walked on the streets to find an MTR back to our hotel. Shawn davin and I left again to Ladies street, but the stalls were already closing, so there was much less. We walked around the area, ended up walking in the wrong direction, so took the MTR back to our hotel.

201009, Day 3:
We woke up late today. It was almost noon when we got out of our hotel, headed to Admiralty and took a bus to Ocean Park. We took this tram which promised a 'multi-sensory ride'. The only senses it required were visual and audio. Not very 'multi' don't you think? We had fried chicken for lunch, which was quite nice actually, and they provided plastic gloves to keep our hands clean. The theme park wasn't as thrilling as I expected, but the rides were fun nonetheless, except for the water boat ride thing. The whole journey was boring, and the end part was a fast slide down which caused such a big splash, my front got soaked. I made a mental note to never ever sit in the second seat from the front of these water rides because the bulk of the splash, ends up there. Ivan was remarkably dry, and that's because he was in front. Davin was rather hilarious. He kept shouting "fall out" while on the thrill rides. We were soon done, and wanted to take the cable car down to the exit, but due to strong winds, they closed down the ride. What a waste. We took the same 'multi-sensory' tram back. We then took a bus then MTR to Central Station, then we walked to the main entrance of Victoria's Peak. Took a tram all the way up, which was quite cool and the angle that it went up was about 60 degrees? We reached the top, then took two flights of escalators to the Peak itself. It was super windy and cold there. The wind was so strong it could move you. Well okay maybe it's just me, but it was rather strong. It felt great, especially when I leaned out to look below, the updraft had the power of an industrial fan. Lingered there awhile, before going back down.

We took a tram to look for some herbal shop. On the tram, we sat on the upper deck, and shawn decided to touch the window of the tram behind ours. A couple of schoolgirls sat at that tram, and one of them, as ivan said, did the "I think you're crazy" sign with her finger. Hilarious. We alighted and then found the shop ivan was looking for. Bought some stuff, then we headed to Times Square again. We didn't shop at the upper levels the other time, so we did this time. The three of them ended up spending quite a lot of time, and cash, at agnes b sport. I didn't want anything so I just sat there and waited. When they were done, we walked around and found Ben Sherman! The stuff are cheaper than Singapore, so I bought one polo shirt. Davin disappeared for awhile. We couldn't find him and didn't know his HK handphone number. Took awhile for us to meet up with him. Small hiccup nonetheless. We then lugged all our shopping bags back to our hotel, dumped everything and immediately headed out for dinner at a restaurant called "very good restaurant". Lame, I know. We were eating when a group beside us left, and a lady came up to me, placed the restaurant's food vouchers on the table and told me we could use it. For a moment I thought she was gonna sell me something. She was quite nice to let us use the discount vouchers.

We took the MTR to Central, and walked to find Hong Kong's version of Clarke Quay. Quite an interesting place, we walked quite abit up this hill, taking escalators and travellators, flanked by rows and rows of pub restaurants. We found a decent one, got in and watched some live band. We all had one beer each, and I was flushed red at the end of one beer. My circulatory system is good. We got out when it struck midnight, and proceeded to the MTR to take the train back to our hotel. Two policemen stopped us halfway, probably thinking we're youths out to make trouble or take drugs and wreak havoc. Ivan and I didn't bring our identification, so the policemen told ivan off, well sort of. I didn't get told off because I was behind, but the less anal police officer remarked that I was quite red. I told him I only had one glass(my mandarin is rather crappy so I should have said bottle), and he said he was the same. Awkward moment there. I just smiled and waved it off. They let us off and we caught the last train(I think, since it waited more than six minutes before departing) back to our hotel. Eventful day it is.

211009, Day 4:
Ivan left early in the morning. I mumbled goodbyes as I turned in my bed. Woke up as scheduled today. Had roasted goose and duck for breakfast. The goose meat was simply succulent. Cheap too. Maybe I'm easily satisfied. After breakfast we walked to the Streets again, with the intention of also using a shop's cash voucher. We browsed around and found something to buy, then I realised I misplaced the cash voucher. We then proceeded to Langham Place to buy some stuff at H&M again. We then took the train down to Central, and I had Pret A Manger again! It's good food, so why should I mind eating it again right. Rhetorical. Don't answer. After that we took the Airport Express Train from Hong Kong MTR to, yes you'd have guessed, the airport.

From the airport we took a bus to Pacific City again, to make a last attempt to find steals or clear our HKD. I didn't buy anything, but shawn and davin did. We had an early dinner there, then took the bus back to the airport.

Small hiccup at immigration. I went through the scanner, my bag through the x-ray, and I almost left without my bag after being body-searched.

Took the wide bus to the plane, and after taxi-ing on the runway for quite some time, the pilot hit the nitro and we jet off into the sky, back to Singapore.

Goodbye Hong Kong, land of the shopping and some sights.

A narrow slit not wider than an average person's finger, span across the top of a sturdy wooden box. Within the slit, the machine bore its teeth: rows of shiny razor that promise pain and efficiency, of unrecognition.

It hums, loudly and sarcastically, when its eye plunges into darkness. Fibres, cheap aluminium and fused rubber feed it's almost insatiable hunger. The bastard mix, ripped repeatedly, causes an eruption of fibrous mist, following wafts of heated alloy and burnt latex.

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Inanimate, limp and contorted, dragged through a damp marsh.

Festering flesh of regurgitated pigs, bloated with thick rancid pus. Disemboweled wolves, asphyxiated by their very own intestines. A lime green, swamp grotesquerie, impaled by a bloodied javelin. Its feet rest upon the exploded bits of bone and grey matter of an ass. A hybrid of man and frog, golden crown shoved deep into the chest of the sapien torso. Charred and covered in soot, the amphibian legs still twitched, its meat crackling from glowing hot coals. Three mice laid out in a circle, the tail of the front mouse forced into the mouth of the one behind.

They emanate a putrefying stench so vile it makes one retch in disgust, should the sight of it all not already done so.

Soft mud, broken blades of grass, and fallen twigs cake to the heel of shoes, agglomerating as the shoes dragged, till it could hold no more, then breaking off like stale crumbs of bread.

A stain of bright, sticky red, oozed onto a white plane. The initial grub size metamorphosized quickly, spreading its wings like a newly emerged butterfly. Spurts timed as though by clockwork rapidly increased its wingspan, till it no longer resembled any creature, but rather, an immense inkblot that changed its shape almost symmetrically. A sudden jerk. Crimson lines streak across the white, thickening as it soaked through the fabric, some dripping onto the green. Deep within the cavity from which the red spurt and oozed, microscopic tears bleed warm, coagulating slosh.

The shoes act like ploughs. As they dragged through the fetid soil of decay and dirt, the heels dig shallow canals that fill with crystal rubies; clumps of soil soaked red.

A heave ho! A flying ragdoll, limbs following the projectile of motion. An explosion of water droplets. A burst of air bubbles. They send pulsing waves like sonar, intercepting smaller ripples that echo a grand entry.

In wisps and curls of an atomic cloud, the blood appeared to rise toward the water's surface, as the cadaver sank lento to the bed of the cold, murky lake.

A dull scaled fish, fins tattered and tail perforated, plagued with disease, wiggled fervently against the current, its gills barely able to harvest oxygen from the sick lake. It eyed the already rotting flesh. It extended its orifice, stretching taut the connective tissues that gave it such motion, motion to feed. The dying fish nibbled furiously at the cadaver's eye, breaking the membrane that held back the milky aqueous humour. It feasted its last on such delicacy.

The cadaver, a face of shock and horror. Its last moments it did not expect. An arm bent back on the elbow, pulling away flesh that peeled off to reveal ivory bones and pink marrow. The pain it had felt before death. A hollow eye socket, optic nerve floating like a seaworm. Even in death, it was not spared. A stab wound to the chest, deep. No way it could have survived.

A Hansel breadcrumb trail of rich blood, soft mud and grass, littered with occasional bits of ripped fabric, caught between the serrated edges of stones and rocks.

Find Gretel.

In a mish mash and rehash, of words that meander a steady stream; of images that traverse another in close proximity; they deposit into a sea of thoughts. The heavier bits form a delta of memories that evoke emotion, stemming the flow of words and images.

Another stream forms nearby, the resultant of an overflowing lake. The dam had burst, not withstanding the immense pressure from the build up over time. Its cherished contents, poured freely into the sea.

Similar to enzymes and substrates, the words and images form complexes from effective collisions. The recently introduced substance, attacks liberally at the complex, altering the end product. Once soley focused on the task, or intended action, now distracted.

It occurs in random spontaneity, its signals are subtle. It is inexplicable, yet so inevitable. It is a name, a face, a smile, a voice. It is her, in every thought.

The trishaw rider calls at an american couple, donned in F1 racing suits, and asks if they'd like a ride in his neon lit, radio blasting songs from the 70s trishaw. They look away.

A group of youngsters sitting on the ledge by a concrete pavement, smoking and chatting.

A lone man, dressed in black, walking with a feminine gait, handbag clutched under his arm. His music is his companion.

( click to read what's still unsaid )

iwantyoubutmymindremindsmeofwhyicantanditstoughtochooseeventhoughtitshouldntbebutmyheartconflictswithmymindandidontknowwhymustitbesohardifonlyyoulovedHimtoobecauseimadethedecisiontocommittilltheyearendandiwouldbreakitifidecidetogoafteryoubecausethathappenedtosomeoneelseanditookoverthepositionanditsmyresponsibilitytobeaccountabletotherestanditoldthemiwouldntdothesamethingtothemsoihopeyoucanwaitformebutallthiswouldprovetobenothingifyoudontfeelthesameasidoaboutyouandthispaininmyheartwontseemtogoawayandwhyisitsoeasytofallbutwhenifinallygetupandgetcomfortablebeingasiamifallagainand ITS LIKE YOU CAN NEVER ESCAPE THE EMO.

It begins with an extra hit,
To the clash of cymbals in twos and threes.
A crash of chimes in spurts and sputters,
fallen shavings of wooden splinters.

The singers pitch and tone they vary,
With intermittent stops to breathe.
Overly exerted it goes off-key,
The crowd takes their leave.

The guitar's distortion a tad too heavy,
The strings buzz and squeak of rust.
Fumbling of fingers up the fret,
A squint of eyes to see the tab.

White and black both keys were pressed,
Too hard or soft the noise suggests.
In different timing it went too fast,
Hands still on the note that's past.

All together in disharmony,
Hear independent melodies.
A song covered ruined so badly,
Because hearts won't beat as one, as one.

It's like the journey up a mountain.

You start at the base, and start climbing. At the beginning you are hyped: the breeze is refreshing; you have an endless supply of strength; you scale the mountain walls adeptly. Obstacles could prove a slight challenge, but the optimism keeps you going.

As the hours that once seemed like minutes stretch into days, tiredness kicks in. The same old obstacles require more effort and time to champion. The breeze only gets dirt in your eyes. The picturesque scenery is the still the same thing you've seen days ago. You find it difficult to love the climb.

At this point, you make a choice out of a possible two:

1. You give up. The climb has taken it's toll on you, and you decide to call in the rangers, who comb you out and bring you back to base.

2. You press on. With gritted teeth and a determined heart, you shield your eyes from the dirt, and continue the climb. You are thankful that there's scenery to admire as you journey.

(1) will lead you to another mountain you'd come to scale.

(2) will lead you to greater heights, and depending on circumstances beyond your control, you might reach the summit.

Why "depending on circumstances beyond your control"? That's because sometimes the mountain doesn't allow you to reach the summit. Impassables, turbulent weather, mountain lions and bears will keep you from advancing. That signals the end of the climb. You call the rangers, and they pick you up and out.

After a certain amount of time has ticked away; you are no longer haunted by the horrors of the climb; you are ready for another climb.

Would you climb the same mountain again? Sure, the weather could take a turn for the better. Maybe you would not encounter the creatures this time. Maybe you are stronger this time. Maybe. Just maybe. BUT. Can you find a way through the impassables? Not many can.

Of the many you could climb, why would you, knowing it's impassables, choose the same one again?

Where one has climbed, climb not again.

The dearer you hold on now, the harder it is to let go later.

of experiences, of places, of events, of people, of conversations, of emotions, of all the time spent, of all the effort that came to naught.

and they haunt me still.

Parched. Ahead are endless miles of undulating sand dunes, littered with cacti so devoid of fluid they are shrivelled. The sun is unforgiving, burning everything under it's shine.

He trudges on, treating each step as an objective to complete, and that keeps him going.

Not too far in the distance, an oasis appears. He knew it to be a mirage, a reflection of water from the sea. He lamented that even if he could somehow drink it, it'd still be sea water: bitter to taste, dehydrating to effect.

What a bitch.

In the vast ocean laid with perils and treasure, lies one with a heart for mine. In the depths of sapphire or the envelope of topaz, she is waiting, waiting for me.

The storms will rage, and the sirens will enchant. Creatures of the abyss, they will ensnare my yacht. Yet I will brave their might, they will not throw me overboard. I am determined, I am.

I may know her, and I may not. She is somewhere out there, and I?

I am sailing the tide to her heart.

Maybe we live in an uncivilised society after all. No matter how hard you try to fake it; with your suits and ties and fancy dresses;with your fake smiles and refined demeanour and bows and curtsies; dining at expensive restaurants and drinking only the best wine, deep inside you're still a selfish bastard. All you care about is your thick callused skin.

YOU, are the following: people that moan and groan and plague the telephone lines with their deafening tirade because someone didn't bring fresh fruit for your lunch, that you should have settled yourself outside. People who would scream their damn tops off(if you're a hot girl please do) just because you have to stay at work a second or a minute more, but smile so damn wide that you could probably ingest a cow whole when you get to leave early. People who throw tantrums like a toddler just because you have to do that little bit extra to get things going. People who sit at the back of a bus with your tucked out shirt, legs spread wide like you're airing your damp crotch, thinking you look damn cool because you refused to budge when someone needed to get out from the inner seat, and had to squeeze past your fat thighs. People who make life difficult for others when there is no need to, and have that perpetually pissed off face. People who ride bicycles on the road in front of buses and act totally nonchalant about it even though you're slowing the bus down, and there are at least fifty people inside the bus who are going to be late and can't wait to straggle the pathetic life out of you.

Seriously. Who are you kidding but yourself? You are disgusting, repulsive and disillusioned. As I've said before, you are social scum. Society doesn't need you for much, except maybe to scrub scum and grime off filthy drains and sewage pipes.

Dear girl,

What is love? The wise, the wizened, the scientific, the poetic and the downright foolish have taken their stabs at defining it's meaning, and their accounts are true, but not complete.

I believe love is a bit of everything: It is blind because I can slam into a wall when I fix my gaze on you; It is crazy because I'd walk a thousand miles to find the perfect gift for you I know I'd never find; it is depressing because I wish you were mine; it is emotional because I let my mind run wild interpreting your every word and action; it is fear because I am afraid I'll lose you even before I win your heart, because you might run away if I told the truth; it is stupid because I do such things to get your attention; it is a waste of time because I can spend hours getting lost in thoughts of you; it is anti-social because I ditch my friends to meet you; it is sacrifice because I'll trade my life for yours; it is poetic because you are reason for my rhyme; it is science because I'm addicted to your pheromones; it is lust because I cannot get enough of your curves, your electric eyes, the scent of your hair, and the touch of your porcelain skin; it is sweet because I dream of your kiss; it is jealousy because I want you all to myself; it is foolish because I'd let my heart break if it keeps yours whole.

I'm a fool for you.

With love,
A boy waiting.