Every time I get the chance to do some alone-time thinking, I remember him especially after I'd finally seen him in motion. I suddenly find it hard for me to imagine him wearing anything other than the outfit he wore that night. His moving picture could not escape my mind no matter how much I tried. Goddamn! I say the more I try, the harder it gets for me to skip his presence.
I used to enjoy our brief conversations. Now there are no conversations at all. We ignore each other's existence. At least that's what I am pretending to do. And it's sad. It is just sad. That is all what I can say about it. Three letters. But I can keep saying them till you get how sad it actually is. sad. sad. sad...
I do not know why would he feel too intimidated by my presence in his life? in his thoughts? in his heart?
Feelings aren't one of two: either love or hate. There are millions of feelings in between, and they are far more interesting, far more complicated than just love or hate.
I simply love his presence, his existence in this hole full of turds of all shapes.
I love his words and the way he shapes them into phrases.. his phrases and the way he shapes them into full sentences.. his sentences and the way he shapes them into paragraphs.. his paragraphs and the way he shapes them into chapters.. his imageries and the way they shape my fantasies.
I love his coming-out-of-a-kid's-mouth English.
I love the way his hands are.
I love imagining him puffing smoke out of his mouth even though he's a non-smoker.
I love it when he tells stories about dead authors.
I love the way he is because he is like no other.
I love it when the men I know turn into his lookalikes when I want them to.
I love the way he is and there is nothing I could hate about him no matter how much I try. Goddamn! I say the more I try, the harder it gets.
