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Wednesday, 14 October 2009

  • He loves me

    The boy could see her from afar, but she could not see him.

    She was sitting under the shade of a tall oak tree, her eyes transfixed on something far, far away. Walking closer, he noticed a single yellow flower was held in her grasp. She cradled it with a delicate touch, as the girl began to pluck off the petals, one by one.

    Closer still, the boy could hear her recite these words:

    he loves me

          He loves me not

    he loves me

         He loves me not

    Closer still, the boy could see the meloncholy in her face.

    he loves me

          He loves me not

    he loves me

         He loves me not

    Closer still, the boy could feel the heartbreak in her voice.

    he loves me

          He loves me not

    he loves me

         He loves me not


    Until there was but one left...


    And to the last petal fell these heavy words:


    He loves me not.


    Now standing in front of her, the boy knelt down and gathered another yellow flower from the ground. Picking off all the petals but one, he turned his eyes to meet her empty gaze. Gently taking the girl's hand, the boy placed the yellow flower within her slender fingers.

    Smiling, the boy spoke to the girl in a silent whisper.


    "Won't you try it one more time?"


    The girl stared at the flower for a few moments before finally plucking off the petal he had left for her. She began to cry as she spoke the final sentence of the child's game.




    "He... loves me..."





    The boy nodded.


    Yes, I do.


    Then he disappeared.

Saturday, 10 October 2009

  • The things we can't do

    "You know, we can't ever get married."

    I stared at the ceiling tiles.

    "I know."

    "You know, we can't ever have children."

    I kept on staring.

    "I know."

    "You know, we can't grow older together."

    My eyes started to sting with dryness.

    "I know."

    "You know, I won't be here for very long."

    My vision began to blur.

    .
    .
    .

    Then I closed my eyes.

    "Did you know that after you're gone I won't ever love anyone else."

    She squeezed my hand tightly, and whispered into the air with a choked sob,


    "I know."

Friday, 09 October 2009

  • A Description of Her

    I could use complicated adjectives and obscure words to describe her. Really, I could be all artistic and try to paint an elaborate picture with the most exotic colors found in the english language. I could use poetic literary forms and devices; metaphors, alliteration, consonace, meter, blank verse just to name a few.

    But you know, I won't.

    I want to describe her so that you can understand it. I want the world to understand, with words that everyone knows, how much she means to me. I want nothing to be deciphered, to be highlighted, to be broken down or analyzed. I want you to read and just understand. I want what I write to stand alone and just be there. Just like she is there. She dosen't need any complicated description because she is self-explanatory.

    True beauty doesn't need to be explained. It just is. Beautiful.

    So I won't even try. I won't explain how beautiful she is, because trust me, she is.

    She really is beautiful

    (and if you don't trust me, here's a picture of her)

    edit> She doesn't want me to post a picture of her.

    I guess she's too beautiful, ya? haha :]

Wednesday, 07 October 2009

  • It was past visiting hours last night, but I stayed like usual anyways.

    I think the nurses knew I was staying late, but I think they also knew our circumstances. So they let it slide.

    It was the fifth straight day that she had to stay in the hospital; the longest yet. Sooner or later I'd be in the same position, so I thought I better get used to it. Looking back at her sleeping body, I thought all the things that someone in my position would think.

    Soon she'd just be a body.

    Soon there would be no rise in her chest.

    Soon she'd just be an amalgamation of elements compounded into a fleshy mass that used to be a living human.

    Then the I would also remember that my fate would soon be the same.

    Opening the blinds to let the moonlight stride in, I wiggled my way into her bed. Hey eyes opened abruptly, as she adjusted herself to the evanescent glow that filled the hospital room.

    "I thought you were asleep."

    She smiled slightly before answering. "Nope. I'm never asleep at this time."

    "You really should get your sleep."

    Adjusting my torso so that I was laying on my side, I rested my head on her pillow and closed my eyes.

    I could hear her ruffling around in the sheets before she settled down and spoke again. "I like the way you stare at me while you think I'm asleep."

    Keeping my eyes closed, I smiled.

    "How would you know how I'm looking at you if you're eyes are closed?"

    "I just know."

    I let out a stifled laugh, still keeping my eyes shut.

    A few minutes passed before she said something again.

    "Hey."

    Opening one eye, I looked into her face. "Yeah?"

    "I love you so much that it hurts."

    I could feel my breath catch, as I closed my eyes again.

    She was already in so much pain.

    "It doesn't hurt too bad does it?"

    She smiled and touched my cheek. "It hurts really bad."

    I could only say one useless thing.

    "I'm sorry..."


    A pause.


    "Are you hurting too?"

    I opened both eyes.

    "More than you can imagine."


    Afterwards we did what we do every night I stay late.



    Cry.

Monday, 28 September 2009

  • The saddest stories are those where love is abused.

    Love.

    Abusive love is an oxymoron in itself. Yet, it still exists. Very frequently in fact.

    So there are many sad stories.

    They are the saddest stories ever told. They are the saddest stories ever to be.

    And hers is one of those stories.

    Love should not be abused. Love is everything abuse is not.

    kind.

    HURTFUL

    gentle.

    VIOLENT.

    trusting.

    VENGEFUL

    faithful.

    PARANOID.

    love.

    HATE. HATE. HATE.

    The worst abuse of love is when the mechanism of love is abused.

    There is a reason they call it love making.

    It is the process in which you bare everything to one special person.

    You let one person reach the places that no one else will touch.

    Only him.
    Only her.

    No one else.

    That is love making.

    To force such a thing is a violation of one's heart. It is the intrusion of a soul.

    Love making is the creation of one being.

    Rape is the forcing together or two incongruent shapes.

    Making love and rape entail the same physical actions.

    But one creates a glimmering hope.

    And the other shatters a dirtied soul.



    They are saddest stories ever told.


    hers is one.


HiroBoi

  • Visit HiroBoi's Xanga Site
    • Name: J
    • Country: United States
    • State: New York
    • Metro: New York City
    • Member Since: 11/7/2003

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