When I look into your eyes
I can see a love restrained
But darlin' when I hold you
Don't you know I feel the same
'Cause nothin' lasts forever
And we both know hearts can change
And it's hard to hold a candle
In the cold November rain
Siren's Song
Sunday, December 28, 2003
Impious pimples so wreck my day,
Yesterday's soft tresses dry like hay.
The sun is behind the clouds, the skies are grey,
I won't look at the mirror, come what may.
Gahs. Pui. Humph. Grump. Ruff ruff. Gribbit. Snorts.
Acne mask and blemish remedies flood my thoughts.
Honeymoon period. I was once afraid of the honeymoon period. I feared to face it, and hence I played hide and seek and evaded it. I faked nonchalance and I refused to acknowledge that it was happening at all. But I made a resolution to myself: Come what may, I'll cherish whatever sweetness that may be and can be reaped from these beautiful days, when the sun shines warmly with an impiously mischievous glow, and the wet rainy days don't seem as awfully dreary as they should be.
Come what may.
I have my reasons for trusting so much in him when he's with his lady friend(s). It is simply because he worries and frets before I do when faced with possibly awkward situations or circumstances easily prone to misunderstandings. If he has taken my feelings into account before anything has even happened, it'll be extremely unfair to even doubt him or not trust him to take care of himself and his friend(s). Each time he reasons out how not okay it was for him to meet up with his lady friend(s) for drinks I'll be dumbstruck with awe and appreciation, for I know how much I mean to him.
There are some questions about him that tempt me. But I respect his space and I make the effort to retreat before he finds me pesky or naggy. In some aspects I function pretty much like my mom and dad and bro. We silently wait till we're read to come out of our little caves and share certain things we can finally make a joke out of. Confrontations are never heard of, at least only once in a blue moon. His way of handling things mystifies and intrigues me. I thirst and hunger to learn more about certain things from him.
Hiaks. Reverse psychology? Maybes.
I'm falling too far to turn my head, and too deep to resurface. Right now I can't breathe, not from the stiffling atmosphere of my glass fortress, but rather, from pressing my head too hard against like whatever insignificant thickness of the glass that still remains, like stretching a clingfirm too thinly against a rounded surface. Trying too hard to reach him, trying too hard to get him to reach me.
Smother? Have I been smothered? Maybes. But I don't care. Bring it on, if you dare.
