There's a quiet yearning within me to write a love song. I've never written a love song I can be proud of yet, not even when I was in love, and I wonder why.

Heartbreak, nonsensical nothings... All these I can form into tunes and rhymes. Why not love that is happy and pure?

I want love, now more than ever, to fill these days with purpose. I sit here and I type instead of reading for my essay, because I have no motivation.

Sometimes I think of him and what he would think if he saw my room in this state of mess, if he knew how lazy I am, if he realised how... wrong I am, and it spurs me to behave better - to clean up my room, to study hard, to be a better person. But yesterday he rolled his eyes at me... Or did he? His eyes are small - the smallest I've seen on a man - but I could've sworn he rolled his eyes as I walked out onto the foyer dressed in the leftovers of my dimsum lunch. He wears jeans, t-shirts, shorts if the weather permits. I love to dress up, and dressing down is something I only do behind closed doors.

I don't know how he's ever going to like me, much less fall in love with me. But still I cling on to every little thing the website on male body language says - the placing of his hands, the posture of his body, the things he remembers, and the things he says. It's hopeless. I should accept that it's hopeless.

I really should.

< bass | treble >

- - 2006-05-29
- - 2006-05-01
on The Ineffable - 2006-03-27
on being a matyr - 2006-03-23
- - 2006-03-17