Eventually, I'll link all of these on their own individual pages so that it'll be easier to find them. They're old, not in chronological order and were never quite my best. Do what you will and hopefully enjoy.

=-=-=-=

"Bed Time" (Misc.)

And in the middle of the night, he clings to his newly cherished small blanket, using it as a conduit for the embrace that he so longingly languishes for.

=-=-=

Articulation failing.

And in the middle of the torrent of thoughts that whirl inside my head, an anchoring thought holds me down.

That familiar blanket of calm enshrouds me.

I smile and I drift into the dreams that only a romantic can conjure up.

She's become something of my Nyquil.

=-=-=

And in the still of the night, he awoke to see a body next to his.

Half-asleep, he sat up to check who it was.

The room was dimly moonlit, but he'll swear that as soon as he recognized that quirky little half-smile, it radiated every dark corner of that small hotel room.

All he could think about was how she sleeps like an angel and how he wouldn't mind waking up to that in the middle of the night or on random mornings.

She shivered a little and she re-positioned herself within the cramped area that she occupied, her blanket half-covering her.

Grabbing its ends, he made sure that she was fully enshrouded to combat the cold blast from the air conditioner, wishing that he could serve as a substitute for the blanket's warm entanglement of a hug.

He maneuvered himself a little ways over so that at some other point in the evening, she could capitalize and give herself more room for comfort.

He rolled over to make sure he wasn't facing her direction.

How complicated would things become if he got himself involved?

=-=-=

When she beds, there is a certain type of warmth that permeates and emanates from her cuddlesome body that beckons for kind indulgence. Yet, at the same time, there is an inherent frailty in her slumber, a sort of delicacy within the rhythmic up and downs of her chest and the susurrous breaths that escape her tender lips that are somehow melodic and euphoniously induce sleep with a magnitude that no amount of sheep or Sandman could ever hope to produce.

=-=-=-=-=

"Reminder"

He never once used this as a surface in this fashion, but it was all that he had at the moment. He hadn't done anything like this in a while and he found himself immersed in his own little bubble, despite the very active world around him. There was just a certain and distinct kind of comfort as the interaction between pen and cardboard was made.

Using the ink as a conduit, words and images spewed their way into existence. While the images were brashly created in jest, the random bodies of text that found their way into every empty niche of the brown canvas were made with more true intentions. They were just little pieces of advice, a mix and match of random quotes, phrases, maxims and caveats, but they all had their own special meanings besides their literal ones.

He had remembered the exact moments that he had said each quote of his own and the contexts in which they were spoken. He smiled, knowing that no matter what happened from this point on, he knew that he had made some sort of impact on multiple lives.

No matter how hard things personally became for him, or how out of tune the external elements made his world, he could always hold on to these memories and use them as ammo for his weapon of hope.

With these instances in storage, he had eternal proof that joy could be reintroduced into lives that had be tainted by sorrow and that roses could indeed grow from concrete and bask in all their beautiful and rightful glory.


=-=-=-=-=

"The Myth"

I know the existence of an unconditional hug, free from false intention or draperies of guile.

I've experienced losing the feelings within my legs, what some refer to as getting "weak in the knees."

To be kissed with a passion so deeply that you find yourself falling welcomely into a void whose only source of light are nothing but the reflections from the eyes of the one opposite you is a scenario that I've been trapped in before.

It's not mythological. It's not fantasy. It's something that infinitely exists.

And it's something that, if I don't have, I will continue to strive for. Something of that magnitude is worth the patience, worth the distraction and worth the potential pain because the grievances of the lows are nothing in comparison to the glories of the ups.

Something like apotheosis.

=-=-=-=-=

"Blade-Pain"

What do you do when all the sweet things that you want to say cannot be expressed at the moments when they pop into your head because of a certain ridiculous manner of insecure discretion?

You seem to be waiting for the right moment, and you know that it's on its way-- things always tend to fall right into place, especially for you.

But what is the maximum capacity for all of those unheard adorations? How long do you think you can go on without citing those verbal affirmations of affection?

You figure since you cannot participate in those nurturing antics in a public realm, you can put to text the various jubilations that she aids in creating or put in image the butterflies she births deep within you and the way she easily makes your whole body brilliantly smile.

But you cannot.

You find that every attempt to conjure up something worthy of her name is an utter failure, unable to truly capture her essence or the romantic binds that hold you.

She is disarming in an unseemingly good way.

All my offensive fronts and my defensive aversions dissipate whenever I'm in her presence or enjoying the exchanges of her ample and witty banter.

When those gears get to grinding, what she speaks is highly relevant and composed of a high level of intellect.

Indeed, there is that share of utter nonsense, but it passes the time in such a welcomingly way and I find that I'm no longer losing hours but, rather, gaining moments of felicity.

Serendipity seems to be a common ingredient in the recipes we're constantly concocting, the flexible and fugacious nature of our personalities aid in forming spontaneous and transient instances of relief and humor.

What is ultimately drawn from the culmination of our "comportments" is something of extreme comfort.

The copacetic ambiance that I've been in deep search of for who knows how long?

It has possibly been found.

It is both exhilarating and, at the same time, consternation-inducing.

But she has a smile that could heal a million souls or stop even Death right in its tracks.

And it's something that I could gaze at for hours on end, if not forever.

I want to heal her sorrow, to provide her with the quintessential ideal of happiness.

A world without boundaries, where shadow can fall in love with flame.

One day, she will know all the joys that she makes me feel.

=-=-=-=-=

"Princess"

She is heavily guarded.

A complex mechanism of sorts, the lights of her affections sometimes shine through the gears of her insecurities in moments of brevity.

But the defenses of her fortress quickly put up those stalwart walls of deflection and the only company she is left with are paintings of her histories that litter the deepest depths of the establishment.

They are heavily fused into the hallways and rooms they inhabit and use them as conduits for their strangleholds and haunts.

She is trapped. A victim of her past.

A lonely princess imprisoned in her tower of memories and emotions, singing dirges of a wailing loneliness and longing.

Despite a languish for relief, caution continues to construct its obstacles.

They exponentially birth themselves through her hesitations until her composition is that of an enigma, a labyrinth that even she cannot get out of.

Little does she know, she contains the power to rid the entire countryside of these twisted creations.

It is encapsulated in a jeweled heart that she carries, the complete opposite of Pandora's Box.

All she must do is revive it from its jaded state.

Its beating existence will bring a light and warmth that will reverse the adverse effects of the bitter cold that had hardened it in the first place.

Its power is limitless.

=-=-=-=-=

"Double Overtime"

And you both lay there, eyes closed, not saying a thing, sinking into her mattress.

You like to think that if these walls could talk they would tell you how much she was anticipating your arrival within its spaces.

Lately, it seemed as if the world had been in a heavy onslaught against you in every way but her remedial presence provided temporarily relief.

Everything was at what the scientific world would call an equilibrium.

It was complete comfort-- a moment that you could have stayed in for a very long time, if not forever.

Words were exchanged. The blithe bubble of tranquility that you were both sharing the luxury of was burst.

She sighed the deepest sigh, the kind that would make the saddest apparitions jealous, and you found your soul sinking within its depth.

All you could feel was this sudden urge to just hold her... but you couldn't.

Not like that.

You knew that if you did, it would never mean the same thing to her as it did to you.

You would lose yourself.

And in this moment of equal vulnerability, you suppose something could happen.

The warmth shared between your arms might find itself wanting to meet at your lips.

Two lonely people who figure it might be better to be alone together, if only for a moment of brevity.

This particular night, destined to be the "night-never-to-be-spoken-of-again" between the both of you, averted through topic avoidance and overcasting awkwardness.

In hindsight, new feelings of regret might be incurred--

and that would just be the salt on the already existing wound that afflicts your fatigued heart.

Pride, it's a funny thing.

Sometimes, it influences you to do things and other times, it restricts you from doing things.

It is both an instigator and a protector.

But at what price?

How do either of you expect to grow if you don't let go?

Shame how you couldn't decipher this particular one as much as you usually do.

Perhaps that's what kept you tethered.

But how could you be so careless?

You're always fearless when you're playing games.

But, you know, it isn't a game...

...and you found yourself leaving with no spine intact.

It wasn't anger.

More like disappointment.

You're usually a clutch player.

You made it straight into double overtime--

and you dropped the ball.

It ended.

=-=-=-=

"How I Get By"

Logic is my self-defense mechanism.

Before I make a brash decision in a heavy situation, I take whatever time I have to put myself and the scenario at hand into context, allowing myself to see the ups and the downs, the positives and the negatives and the right course to potentially take.

And that's how I get by.

But I can't help but feel like I'm making a mistake.

Things have been taking up my time lately, drastic or not.

But I find that I'm neglecting one.

Even moreso, I'm running away because the thought of it scares me and the hypocrisy scars me.

Still, I revert to the others, thinking that I'm helping build bridges and strengthening existing bonds.

And that's how I get by.

But I can't help but feel like I'm making a mistake.

I find myself listening, but the only words I hear are linguistic combos whose semantics echo meanings of regret and loss.

The only songs I notice are dirges of a balance disrupted.

But I tell myself that I'm just filtering, that it's just one of those days.

And that's how I get by.

But I can't help but feel like I'm making a mistake.

The thoughts still linger in enigmatic pools of aversion and the words ready themselves to make their way up from under my breath and pass the gates of silence and repression that have been holding them hostage for the past few weeks.

They feel I have wronged them and have denied them the glory that they so rightfully deserve.

But every situation has its winners and its losers.

I keep repeating that if there's an off-chance that I can have you, that I'd want all of you and not just a part of you.

And that's how I get by.

But I can't help but feel like I'm making a mistake.

Just take the time to analyze this particular picture.

As wonderful as it may be, I know it's a lie draped in extravagant vestitures of enticing logical brights and warm colors,

because the optics of my optimism exist in two-fold dimensions, finding its residence on both sides of the issue at hand.

You chip away deep enough, you'll find below the layers a plain backdrop of split black and white that are both surprisingly gray.

And while both ends pain me, I decide that one gray suits the base moreso perfectly than the other.

And that's how I get by.

But I can't help but feel like I'm making a mistake.

Four o' clock in the AM and I'm looking outside.

The world's a dark blue, with rays of streetlight amber darting here and there in suggestive ways.

It was hard being that far away.

It's even harder being that close.

Directly out my door, I find a determined path that I turn my back upon because I trick myself into believing that it's not worth losing any sleep over.

You certainly are, no doubt.

Sleeping, I mean.

But that's how I get by.

And I can't help but feel like I'm making a mistake.

=-=-=-=

"Equilibrium"

She closed the door behind her and found herself mounted in place like a cold pillar, her emotions running rampant in the playgrounds of her mind.

What was she doing?

For a while, she felt like she could possibly hold an inkling of affection for him-- probably did, actually. No, it crossed her mind on way too many occasions. She did.

She just found herself constantly battling in her mind, having to remind herself that this man was not any of the other boys from her past.

She just simply could not let it go, stopping all the love from getting in. All thoughts led to similar conclusions-- the pain of having put in so much, only to have it end in heartache.

She was definitely vibing within the situation at first but she checked herself with such notions as, "You know, this is how it always starts."

Albeit, it took a while, but she slowly began to bury the hatchet, grain by grain. A painstaking process, yes, but she was making the necessary steps.

She put herself out there, just a tad. Was it too late?

She tells herself that if anything happens, it happens. She's already content with the fact that she's achieved that level of just being ready once again. His loss, really.

Funny, it seemed as if the tables had now turned-- she could subtly sense it.

It was now him being distant.

He stepped out the door and it took him a good minute before he started the trek back to his home, convoluted thought raiding every vacant orifice of his mind.

What was he doing?

He thought he had buried the feelings. He was just being patient at first-- it felt too good to leave it at that.

Still, the whole situation kept switching from this and that so he decided to just drop it entirely with no strings and no regrets.

And he believed that it worked-- for a long while, actually. However, he just recently realized that he was just finding ways to distract himself. Oh, that spark was still there, however weak it was, just waiting for some instigation.

Oddly enough, though, he found himself reverting back to enigmatic and aversive self-defenses-- the further he delved into it, the more he wanted to back out.

His front of confidence was no longer as strong as it usually was. His insecurities finally finding their way to the front-lines.

Thoughts of deep rejection now fluttered within his thoughts for some reason-- the pain of being in so deeply, only to have her realize that he wasn't everything that she needed, or at the least, wanted.

His thought process was slothed something proper. At this point, he could not read anything within the context of the situation. He was growing weary, losing his touch. He usually prided himself on reading people, yet here he was, refusing to do so.

Funny, he noticed how the script had just totally flipped.

It was his turn to be scared.

Had it all just come down to good conversation? But that's what always sparked it in the first place.

This equilibrium was getting old...

on both ends.

=-=-=-=

"The Necklace"

And she says to me, "You see this?

This...

This represents your heart.

And this...

This represents the key to your heart.

Now, it's small and unexpected-- like many things in this world.

It hangs...

but it also falls and is easily tarnished.

It's going to need some cleaning every now and then.

But, you have to remember that your heart's always beating--

it's sometimes weak and it's sometimes strong.

So, you see, it's not your job to protect it...

it's your job to bring it back to a state of strength.

That's what this is for.

It's a representation.

You can hold it, you can clean it and you can wear it on your sleeve...

but most of all, it's within your sights.

No relic holds value without having its own story to tell."

=-=-=-=

"The Little Things"

It was getting to that point where she could not stand him anymore.

She had had it up to here and was starting to question whether or not the whole relationship was worth it.

There were times in the past when he was a real sweetheart but he was being a real douchebag lately, constantly blowing her off and dismissing her when she needed him the most.

She gave him space. He gave her nothing.

Things were only getting worse and they both knew it.

AIM flashed on her taskbar.

She hoped with every inkling of her being that it was not him.

It wouldn't have mattered what he had to say at the moment, nothing was going to help right now-- she was too hot-headed. It just wasn't the best time.

"You good? You seem to be out of it lately."

It wasn't him. Good thing too-- her room might've went up in flames with her mental combustion if it had been.

It was ol' faithful.

"It's no secret... everyone knows."

For the next hour, she confided in him the current situation as he chided in every now and then with what advice or assuasive commentary he had to offer.

In the middle of her vent, he interrupted. "What's your favorite ice cream flavor?"

"What?" His random question totally threw her off her train of thought.

"Haha, look... just answer the question."

Hesitant, but intrigued, she replied. "...Cookies and cream... why?"

"The world's forever churning, okay? All the ingredients we starve for, it's within it, randomly spread out. I promise... one of these days, the world's gonna spit out some cookies and cream flavored ice cream for you-- you just gotta wait until it's done churning it out.

But that's the hard part-- the whole waiting dealy. We're only human, so we're all hungry. Until we find that favorite to vibe off of the rest of our lives, we gotta settle for these other ingredients or what we think is our current favorite to keep our bellies satisfied. You dig?"

She gave a out a little giggle. She could feel the heat fading away from her face.

"Thanks. That was the worst metaphor I've ever heard in my life... and because of that, I'm not even mad anymore. "

"Haha, I never said I was a poet... Listen, I'm hungry. You wanna get something to eat. It might get your mind off things."

He certainly knew how to shut her up. How could she talk if her face was stuffed?

"Now that sounds like a plan."

He pulled up and stopped her advancements as she made her way towards the passenger side door.

He got out, leaving the car on and made his way to the opposite end, opening her door for her.

How sweet. She looked at him with a weak smile full of gratitude.

"What? ...It would only be right." He sported a grin with a playful wink as she watched him make his way back around the front-end of the car.

As she was getting in, she noticed something waiting in her seat.

Ice cream. Cookies and cream. Her favorite.

"Figured it'd cheer you up some, yeah?"

She waited a bit.

"...You definitely know what you're doing."

He was always there for her, through thick and thin, no matter the cost or repercussions.

Slowly but surely, all those times, they've certainly added up.

She smiled on the inside as she looked out at the dashboard.

It was always the little things.

=-=-=-=

"That Guy"

I know I'm not that guy that turns heads.

The guy who walks past you on campus, who you give a little smile to, and secretly watch from behind as he continues to go on his way.

The guy in the movies where everything stops as soon as he walks through that front door.

The one who doesn't really have to say anything to get your interest.

The kind of alpha-male who can net any girl he wants to with just a quick glance from his eyes.

I'm not the guy that you hit on.

The guy who as soon as you look at his handsome face, plants a crush seed in your head, whose existence is constantly nurtured with your chronicling of your romantic history together that is nothing more than a culmination of various hello's and daydreams.

No.

I'm not that guy.

I've been surrounded by them all my life. Two of my best friends are those guys.

I'm the guy that you hear about from everyone else. The kind of guy of that when we do eventually meet, you can't help but say, "I've heard so much about you!".

The kind of guy you're comfortable bringing home to your parents, but also to meet your closest circle of friends.

The guy who doesn't let his eyes, looks and body do the talking, but actually does the talking.

The type of guy who'll fix your TV or put together your bookcase.

The one who isn't in a rush, who's more than patient.

A person who will make you laugh and be there for you when you want to cry.

The kind of fellow who you think about because he does little things here and there that no one else ever really notices.

You don't develop a quick, loose crush on me.

Given time, I'm the one that you fall for.

And, you know...

I'm okay with that.

=-=-=-=

"Lay Your Armor Down"

She mirrored a good amount of his own qualities and he could not stand it.

Something about her aura subtly commanded him, even from a far distance, and he hated the fact that when he was around her his thought process was reverted close to a non-mobile state, reminiscent of a slug or an amoeba.

He despised that stupid little chime his phone made every time a text message was received and the little smirk he sported every time it was from her.

The thought of going to bed and having dreams of jubilee that centered around joyous outings with the girl in question was a dreaded one.

It annoyed him how he'd go out with enough mental defense to make the Spartan army jealous, only to find that his armor quickly and easily collapsed with one striking glance from her direction.

He held in contempt the fact that he almost died everyday on his bike because thoughts of the girl drew his attention from such hazards as other bicyclists and cars.

It bothered him how lately he was so short of wit and, even moreso, how he was always thinking of things to say to her.

Pernicious was her ability to always make him smile in the most subtle of ways and, more often than not, without the use of words.

He rejected all prose and all artistic ventures instigated by her with disdain because they could never amount up to anything worthy of her name.

But most of all, he loathed the fact that the closer he got, the more he wanted to back out--

that something within him was holding him back, preventing what could be.

While he was laying the bricks toward her kingdom, he was never really taking the path.

He fooled himself, not knowing that all this time he was actually rebuilding his own silent fortress.

Yet, she permeated his front of confidence and maneuvered her way into the inner mechanisms, though she triggered his invisible, unconscious alarms.

But it was this very point that he began to highlight and replay in his head-- the contradiction inherent in the situation at hand.

He realized that no one was able to bring that warmth in a long time.

In a long time.

He needed new kicks, infused with stamina, that could handle a lot of wear and tear.

This could potentially be the longest walk he's ever taken.

=-=-=-=

"It's You"

I just came by... to say that I'm sorry. I apologize... profusely. What happened last night... I meant in no way to offend you and... and I don't want you to think that you're undesirable or... I'm sorry, that... that wasn't what I meant.

I don't want you to think that.. I don't like you-- or that something isn't there. I mean, this past weekend itself... has been some of the best days I've had in a long time... too long of a time, some would say.

It's just that... after my last relationship, I've become very weary of my own feelings. Whether they're real or they're just illusions-- something that I keep rolling with because of pride or what I feel I'm supposed to do.

And I'll be honest, I've been missing that feeling lately-- you know... that warmth, that affection. Knowing that when I look to my side, there will be another body there-- a tangible being that I can hold in my arms, that I can adore.

And so, when things came to that point last night... I ran. I was afraid.

I was afraid that it was that yearning for that feeling that was commanding me-- that it was a compromise... a culmination of my insecurity, my weakness, my loneliness and my selfishness for self-gratification. And if that was the case... if that was indeed the case-- I didn't want it to be that way. It wouldn't be fair... to you. And I didn't want to lead you on just because of my desideration for quick affection or lust. I couldn't do that to you. I would never, ever want to do that to you.

But listen, when you left-- something deep within me sank... and I was lonelier than I have ever felt in a long time. And it's sad knowing that it took your absence, in this context, to make me realize this-- but it was then that I knew. I knew...

It wasn't that I was just missing a presence, but I was specifically missing yours. I wasn't missing that feeling... I was missing you.

It's you that I want... that I need.

It's you that I want to call in the middle of the day just to tell you that I miss you... you that I want to call in the middle of the night to tell how my day has been and to wish you a "G*night" and sweet dreams. It's your voice I want to hear to soothe my pains, quell my troubles and pull off miracles by getting me through my daily storms.

They're your eyes that I want to stare longingly and intimately into during an... evening walk underneath the moonlight and... and the stars, and just get lost within. It's your hand that I want to hold within mine... and gently kiss. It's those budding, soft and inviting mounds of twin perfection that are your lips, that I want to bring to my own and your taste that I want to savor and have linger for as long as possible upon my tastebuds.

It's your emollient and gentle touch that I want to be caressing my face and it's your warmth, infinitely stronger than any amount of suns, that I want to have within my grasp in the midst of the evening chill. It is your inherent beauty, able to make any Olympian blush from envy and embarassment, that I want to see in a restive state of tranquility... and that I, at some point, want to wake up next to in the morning.

And it's you that I want to have... right here, right now, right next to me-- instead of holed up in your room, listening through your window or watching me on your balcony, previously with deaf ears and blind eyes of rancor and contempt...

but now hopefully instead with some notions of reciprocation.

It's you.

=-=-=-=

"Muses" (randoms)

She demurely commands a complex simplicity, the most clever puzzle used against the male population.

She does not need the "finishing touches" that make-up provides-- she is a natural masterpiece, the kind of brilliance that shines effortlessly, the kind of image that you spend hours studying for intricacies and subtle hints at the meaning harbored within.

Her rondure body is her canvas, which she drapes in laid-back vestiture themes of earth-tone comforts that command your gaze and augment your personal longing, though simple they may be.

There's a softness within her decibles, like a blanket that enshrouds your ears, leading you to a peaceful nirvana that beckons you to drop all tremulous burdens and brisk along in a blithe manner with daydreams of smiles, sunshine and copacetic moments of jubilee.

Her playful grins echo an innocence lost long ago, taking you back to a time where the simplest things were the greatest things.

All the sketches and megapixels in the world could not capture her essence.

If she cannot fully encapsulate herself, how could another even begin to think they could do the same in any medium?

All she needs is that strong frame, to hold her and joyfully display her to the world.

No signature needed-- she wouldn't deem it necessary.

In fact, it'd be a crime for the viewer to know so readily the author of such a beautiful piece and the instigator behind its creation.

=-=-=

She'll wear pajammy-jams or sweats, with a simple beater and no make-up.

And she will be the most breath-taking sight I'll have ever seen.

She'll have that natural, no-effort-needed beauty.

The kind of beauty that I wouldn't mind waking up next to in the morning.

She'll have that timeless beauty.

The kind that dates back to the origin of the word "woman" when cats would sit outside their caves and when Ms. Headturner walked by, they couldn't help but say to one another, "Wooo, man."

She'll have that paralyzing beauty.

The kind that stops, manipulates and bends light to its advantage.

She'll have that nerdy cuteness to her.

The kind that you'll want to keep to yourself because something such as that is comparable to the Holy Grail.

She'll have that quirky cuteness to her.

The kind that makes you want to just lay around for hours in the sheets and crack jokes while watching a movie.

She'll have that goober-iffic cuteness to her.

The kind that makes you want to show her off to your friends because she could definitely hang with, if not surpass, the boys.

She'll have that loveable cuteness to her.

The kind that makes you jus want to hold her tightly, in a warm embrace, in a loving spoon, cuddling for hours on end.

And her speech will notonly be tolerable, but articulate, eloquent and relevant as well.

The kind that's comboed with a soothing, euphonious and melodic voice.

The kind of voice that binds and compels you.

The kind that's unfair.

The kind of girl that's unfair.

Unfair, the fact that she exists, because she's everything that complements every measure of your being.

Unfair, because if she isn't taken, you know that she should be.

Unfair, because she doesn't even need to say a thing to make your day.

Unfair, because she is what you compare all others to.

Unfair, because you'd be willing to sacrifice all that you have for her.

Unfair, because you know you're not the only one that's thinking the very same thing.

Unfair, because despite all your self-assurance, she's the only one that could deter your actions.

Unfair, because you have to wait so long to meet her.

=-=-=

She could compete with the best of the goddesses on a good day on Mt. Olympus.

A modern day Helen of Troy, she was equipped with a smile that men would go to war for.

She moved with the grace of the wind, reminiscent of a floating angel.

Not a word was needed to escape her lips. Just a quick glance from her direction was enough to quell the most violent storms.

Swaying with a blithe softness, signs of self-assurance vibed within her confident swagger.

The trust she had in her own abilities and blessings further fueled her demure attractiveness.

She knew what she wanted and while she was easily capable, did not abuse her appeal.

Her discipline and patience made her that much more beseeching and made her romantic decisions that much more powerful in magnitude.

She is why the word "ethereal" came to existence--

within reach but never within embrace.

=-=-=

The attraction to her was a strange one.

Though they rarely saw one another and almost never hung out, the exchanges between them hinted at so much more.

He wasn't even sure if he was just being witty and friendly or if he was ever flirting.

All he knew was that the clever banter and wily conversation between the two stirred something within him.

Someone that could retort with the same quickness and sharpness as he-- it peaked his interest.

To him, to tease was a compliment-- if he respected someone well enough and felt like they could take a joke, he would make it.

Anyone that could be that carefree and self-assured was someone he'd like to be around.

Just the mere fact that she even knew half of the stuff he alluded to marked her for affection.

She was a goober--

and he'd leave it at that, waiting for her riposte.

=-=-=

The girl in question, every now and then, complains about the load she has to deal with.

Many will comment that it's her fault for putting so much on her plate-- if she can't handle it, then why do it in the first place?

To be honest, she can handle it and even though she decides to do so much, it isn't as much as a decision as one might believe.

In truth, she gets herself involved because she cannot stand being lethargic. To be busy is something that she must do.

It's not boredom that drives such notions, but something much deeper.

Perhaps it is pride? Was there some event that happened in her distant past that brought her need to prove herself to fruition?

A competitive nature hints at notions of inferiority and her need for attention show signs of a lapse in confidence.

Whatever the cause, one thing is certain-- because of such a heavy offset, her moments of celebration and jubilation are made that much stronger.

To see her smile and to hear that genuine laughter are rewards in themselves.

He would make it his mission to provide her happiness whenever he was able to.

=-=-=

Let me tell you about this girl...

She doesn't know it, but the words she says could kill a man. Or maybe she does-- she just doesn't like to admit it.

I'm gonna go with the latter.

She's amiable and adorable-- one that you'd rather just hold in your arms and make smile because those radiant enamels are capable of manipulating time and space, reminiscent of the Matrix. She could stop bullets with just the jovial sparkles in her eyes.

She's the kind of girl that has a lot of guy friends who initially befriended her because of affectionate notions. As it were, those crushes quickly faded, though they didn't die out completely. Rather, they would become suppressed and witheld, turning the situation into more of a friendship with hope-- that perhaps one day she would tap into those resources left in the heart of a man.

Or maybe I'm wrong. Perhaps they were being genuinely friendly-- I don't know.

I do know that beauty, intelligence, kindness and presence (especially presence) will sloth the thought process of any man-- generally speaking, of course.

And that's why I think, whether or not they were aware of it, every conversation, every joke and every moment of aid was an unconscious attempt to win some favor and hopefully amass some inkling of reciprocation from this girl.

I mean, in making her happy, they were, in a way, selfishly trying to fulfill their own desires.

But you can't fault her. Nor could you fault them.

Well, depending-- though she wasn't manipulative or facetious about it, some may argue that she led some guys on (I personally maintain that most of the time, guys lead themselves on-- one should be able to read such things).

The fellas? Like I said-- their intentions were highly debatable.

She is what they call an "Alpha Female - Type B".

..that Type B being the nicer of the two.

Her most compatible match? An Alpha Male of any type (there's three types-- I'll indulge you some other time).

That's not to say that the rest of the pack doesn't hold a chance with her-- it's just that they'd really have to work at it.

A woman of her type usually does the chasing.

=-=-=-=

"A World Apart"

He'll tell you that he doesn't have insomnia, though that's the technical term for it. As an acquaintance, he'll just tell you that he has trouble sleeping at night. But if you're one of the chosen few, he may feel compelled to tell you of what haunts him in the still hours of the midnight, of the various demons that torture him from the depths of the shadows, whose contorted shapes do nothing but remind him of events that transpired in the past.

Do you live in fear? I mean, truly terrified of something-- scared for or of life? Most are lucky enough to not have to live with such burdensome thoughts-- he used to be one of them.

More than likely, he will spare you the long story-- that he just had his short time handling politics. He'll say that, in a nutshell, there were often disputes between parties and eventually, he evolved into the man who was sent to quell a quantity of qualms in the area. But very quickly, like a moth to the flame, he was drawn in and the risk of each solution rose considerably.

Things were getting deep and he was being brought down with them. With their age, people's egos grew-- their intelligence and immaturity exponentially worsening. Vendettas were constantly growing, retribution seeming to be the only option.

Living under these conditions left him jaded to many experiences. The violence of men and their testosterone-driven ambitions over territory and material things were things that only shocked him in the very beginning-- not because he got over it, but because one had to get over it in order to be strong enough to do what he did. It was only when things of this nature deviated from the alpha-males and their peons and began burgeoning into the lives of females that a dark flame stirred within him-- that was his weakness.

His deep-rooted hate for the male mind was a direct result of his environment. There's a keen difference betwen streetsmarts and booksmarts and here, he had a clear advantage in both over all the men he dealt with. But the ladies here were another story and of another caliber. The roles they played in these neighborhoods and the actions they took nurtured within him a soft respect for the female gender. He never fought over his boys-- only with words and compromises.

But, mess with a girl in any shape or form, physically or verbally, and there would be guaranteed payback. He called them his "songs" and his quartet of retaliation sang his lyrics to the unfortunate-- their heard crescendos of pain amplifications of the melancholy in the female community they had created.

He was the Venus Enforcer and soon he became more feared than loved. He had a composure and form that presiden'ts would have been envious of. He ruled over the county with an undisputed iron fist. With his strong hold of power, he was very rarely perturbed or distilled, his raging fire of retribution saved for female cases.

The last time he lost it, a girl he hardly even knew was reported to had been raped at a party. He approached her in confidence and it was confirmed. He felt that it was his duty to deliver an opposite but unequal reaction.

Instead of his usual quartet, he rounded a band of ex-cons who owed him a favor. It was a saturday evening and the target and friends were jumped outside of a local liquor store. He and his crew, which consisted of three, were taken to a back-alley where they were blasted with a prison song of forced attrition. Poetic justice-- four virginities to pay for the stolen value of one.

He never gave the group, known as the Northside Aristocrats, another thought-- he usually never had to.

Two weeks later, the NSA retaliated in a violent guerrilla knife-frenzy. However, they weren't after him-- at least not physically. He didn't play by the rules, neither would they-- they went after one of his best friends, his right-hand man.

The ambulance didn't make it in time. He suffered a slow death due to blood loss, the result of multiple stabbings lining the stomach and chest.

Do you know what it's like to hold a loved one in your arms, watching them breathe their last breath, the small light in them fading away until there's an emptiness in their eyes?

After that, he distanced himself from that town and everyone there. The place that he once regulated with dignity had regulated him in the end, making him one of its victims.

It was memories like this that lurked in the darkness and slowly ate away at his soul. He couldn't sleep because at times, he was paralyzed with fear from knowledge-- the knowledge that he or anyone wasn't invincible and that the world is a crazy place with a severe imbalance of good and bad.

But more importantly, his faith in humanity was shattered-- he was terrified with the knowledge that even he could succumb to the travesties and horrors he once prevented.

=-=-=-=

"Unknown"

She spoke with a pleasant flow that was smooth, like a member of the Rat Pack. Not overly complicated, one was swayed into her conversations and just as easily became interested. While her beauty is what initially drew attention, her intelligent and witty banter were what make men linger.

She had a cute appeal that made her a precious commodity. One wasn't blinded by lust when it came to her- men wanted to handle her gently like a china doll. She was a fragile wonder that required the utmost devotion, attention and care and to do otherwise would be a crime.

And just the same, her movements were like strokes of calligraphy- smooth, elegant and fluent. When done moving from A to B, one couldn't help but redraw the path in their minds, the picture created by the various points worthy enough to be imprinted in one's head. It would not be out of the ordinary to find men retracing her steps, hoping to find within those invisible walkways the key to unlocking this lovely love's love.

But unbeknownst to them, the secret lay in the emollient wind. Just as it sporadically flowed in different directions, so did her taste in men. She wanted so badly to fall in love that it could've been anyone, as long as they were in the right place at the right time. She had gone through so much heartbreak that she gave up looking.

But her emotional pain stemmed not from the men, but from herself.

She embarassingly owned a lengthy track record of beaus from every facet of life and of every personality type. She went through men like a child to candy- each time finding herself hungrier and hungrier. Unhappy with each one, she moved on, though she felt guilty with every turn down.

To her, dating more resembled shopping with unlimited returns. At this point, she was jaded, convinced that she had found the best out there and was still not satisfied. She joked that she suffered from romantic ADD but she often worried that she had passed up the one.

And whenever she had worry on her mind, she went to that same place. It was her own private spot where she could just listen to the one thing that she could relate to- the wind.

It would flow from this way to that and it always made the same soft whistle of a bellow, much like her exhales when, again, she had not found the one. This particular evening, she shut her eyes into a meditative state, intently focused on the faint calls of the violent gales.Translating it's message, she painted a path in her mind, following it with closed eyes. Slowly, she refurbished her sight.

In view was the one boy she wouldn't have thought of.

Of course, only he would have known the path to her depths.

Though she hardly recognized him, she felt a warmth beside him. So many oxymorons and contradictions were included in this paradox, and for once, she had no idea where this tunnel was leading.

She smiled.

She knew.

That unknown is what love is all about.

=-=-=-=

"Progressive"

He would describe all of it in one word: progressive. That's was his view. Economy and physics.

It was a simple law: what stays in motion wants to remain in motion, and that's what it was eternally doing. It was a big organism that had too many things going on at once and people did their best to try and justify it all as a whole. However, to him, it was just too gargantuan.

Things were going to happen every now and then and the worst part was there was nothing you could do to stop it. True, there were many ways to avoid the multiple instances that could occur spontaneously, but it was going to happen. It was bound to. Controlled chaos, some would call it.

To move on from one thing to the next. To ebb and to flow. To roll with the punches. To be, in a sense, nomadic, sporadic. That's how one had to operate in order to function at all in this world.

It was all too easy to crash and burn. To be stagnant, lethargic. To sit there and try to justify what had just happened.

The idea that a plan had been set out for all seemed ridiculous. What was the point-- self-discovery? What good could self-discovery and the strengthening of character be in an environment where it would constantly be tested and needed but never ultimately change?

Why were some plans harder, easier, longer or shorter than others? Some were just born lucky, he guessed. It isn't entirely fair that some were blessed with stalwart demeanors and strong stomachs.

Like many blunders, it had surely been established with good intentions, but now there was just too much suffering. The entire mechanism was a trap for its inhabitants. It was an abandoned product. Everyone had their problems and sometimes it seemed like that was the only connection found, let alone, shared.

If anyone was going to save one another, it would be each other. People were lonely, but they were lonely together.

For every solution, multiple conflicts resulted. It was a cycle that was started long ago and never evolved to a better position.

No one liked to be wrong. No one enjoyed not having control. People are inherently selfish-- it's a product of survival. What beauty could be found was encapsulated into a single concept and reserved for a certain group. Certain universals became luxuries. One man's treasure was literally one man's treasure and no one elses.

The catch was that things had to be this way in order to exist-- there needed to be a reason for employment. It could not continue to strive for as long as it had if it wasn't. The machine hadn't been built with unlimited resources-- that just wouldn't make sense. One had to feed off pain in one way or another in order to get away from it. Happiness was attained at the expense of someone else. Without an imbalance, some things wouldn't move forward. Something can't be moved in a given directon without a push.

It was all a given. It was overlooked. People needed to be busy.

And busy they were and forever busy will they be. It was a circle, an infinite routine.

He would describe all of it in one word: progressive.

That's was his view.

Economy and physics.

=-=-=

"To Whom It May Concern"

To whom it may concern:

Hey there, beautiful.

Congratulate me, please, for I've only thought about you once today. A record, I believe. The only problem is I haven't stopped. And how could I stop? One couldn't possibly blame me. When you get the image of perfection in your head, it takes the impossible to chase it out. I could tell you how I feel about you night and day. Any part of you I could welcome to an hour long conversation or even a lecture. I could teach a whole course entirely devoted to you and the amazing emollience of your presence and the remedial extremities of your touch.

There's a buoyancy in your personality, along with you step. Never have I seen a moving object that magnetically attracts the gaze of everything it passes by. You welcomingly float, like the breeze on a warm summer day, a welcoming sway that everyone nearby shares the luxury of. You know not the wonderous effects of your own soothing voice. Within the light decibles, I can easily sense a keen amount of care and easily find shelter in your speech. I could listen forever and had you happened to have homeschooled me all my life, I'm certain I would have had a much greater amount of focus and work ethic. And your smile. Your radiant, pacifying smile. All worries and thunderous storms circulating in my head cease when you turn in my direction and indulge me in those enchanting enamels. Your smile could deflect bullets, I'm sure.

You're all that I see in a crowded room. Everyone else dissipates and disintegrates, 'cause having you here comforts me. There's an unsurpassed sense of peace whenever we're together. You've cleared my dusty eyes. Life looks so much better. You bring upon the emergence of the sun, avert the rain from falling upon you're sacred body and control the wind so that it blows gently against your face, your hair flowing in a sporadic manner, exposing the goddess.

Whenever I need reassurance, strength to carry on, or a pick-me-up, I know that all I need to do is look into your eyes.

Look into your eyes and think the usual.

Its all good.

So long as I have you.

Love, the boyfriend

=-=-=

"FLING #2 (incomplete)"

Where was I? I wasn't really sure. They brought me here, in foreign territory, a party full of unknowns. I sat down, alone, not knowing where my friends had scampered off to.

The only refuge I had was within the haven of her blue eyes.

She looked at me from across the room with that enchanting gaze.

I was paralyzed, locked in her crosshairs as she felt me with her eyes.

But her sight was shifted, and I was left on my side of the room wounded as her arrows of love hit not my heart, but my ego.

Dayum.

=-=-=

"FRIEND (incomplete)"

How do I feel about her? Well, she's WB-kind-hearted as well as Must-See-TV gorgeous. She's the girl that all the other girls hate upon first glance until they take the time to actually get to know her. However, in true highschool fashion, none of them ever have.

But I guess that comes with the facade, yeah? I mean, looking at her, she must be a Big witch with a capital B? If you looked like her you know you'd be one.

But, she isn't.

Not at all.

However, for the guys, she's the pin-up girl, yeah? The one that they all pine for and secretly pain themselves trying to gain her favor in an affectionate way? Yeah, you know what I'm talking about.

But until now, I've forgotten about all that. I've forgotten that she is indeed, Dream Girl.

She's juss her.

Her, my beautiful, benevolent friend.

=-=-=

"SHAMELESS PLUGS (incomplete)

One time, a girl I once knew asked me, "Ryan, how do you do it?"

To which I replied, "Hmm? Do what?"

She answered, "Do that thing you do where you make me smile from ear to ear."

I juss looked at her and told her the truth.

"You know, I don't make many people smile that way... What can I say? You bring out the best in me."

She hugged me so hard, I thought she'd crush my lungs and I'd die from oxygen deprivation.

But at the time, I would've been fine with that.

=-=-=

"MAGNETS"

Sometimes I feel like that two of us are magnets, the attraction is there but we're constantly flipping on opposite ends so that there's a force between the two of us that stops us from talking to one another.

If we're lucky we sometimes hit the same charges and we collide, but ever so briefly. Every now and then, in the middle of class, I juss sit there and think.

Think about how juss how close to perfection she truly is.

I juss don't understand it how anyone would ever want to bad-mouth her or for that matter, not allow themselves to find out the truth for themselves.

That truth being that beyond the amazingly beautiful visage, the cliched hair and that blinding smile, there's a brilliantly talented, funny, intelligent, astonishly benevolent girl who doesn't even need to talk to me to make my day.

And the fact that I can tell between the two makes me feel like I'm on a much higher level than the general school population.

It gives me a good reason to say, "its all good."

=-=-=

"WHY? // GOT ANGST?"

Ironic how in trying to distance myself, making a ballast of autonomy and ceasing from letting them get even an inkling of my various intricacies, I've attracted the friendships and admiration of many.

Its as if I juss cannot accept it. I go out of my way to find a flaw for them to expose and if there isn't one there, I'll create one as a test and yet they still stick around.

I'm content with what I have but I juss cannot comprehend what makes me so endearing. I understand my faults and my various beneficial traits but something deters me from seeing my own self worth. You could try to shower me with compliments, lies or the truth, but it will all amount to nothing.

Someone once told me, "When we are given gifts, we are obliged to make the world a better place. No matter how reluctant you are, you have no choice but to shine." I can easily see the merit, value and potential in everyone else.

Why can't I see my own worth?

I'm luminous when I don't want to be.

I'm the firefly that wants to be a maggot.

I think in my various missions helping people find the best of themselves I've been secretly trying to find my own identity.

Perhaps its that I'm scared, afraid that I really am not worth it. I'm scared of pain, failure and wasting myself. I've almost always gotten my way and I'm not yet used to being told otherwise.

So instead of discovering potential flaws or entering scenarios in which I'm the victim, I create them so that I can control them. I have so much control over myself and my surroundings that I scare myself.

Looking back, I've almost always put myself in positions and situations that protectively swayed in my favor. I've realized that I've always docked out before things were even given the chance to fling themselves in a bad direction. I set such low standards so that I don't end up dissapointing myself.

Its healthy to be happy with everything.

Its unhealthy to be happy with everything but yourself.

Many people have attempted to break me in the past but failed, even if I had wanted them to.

I can't even break myself because I've been avoiding all my life all that is frail.

Got angst?

=-=-=

"REASON"

He was the type of person that always knew what to say. If there was a way to make your day, he certainly was going to try and do it. He always sported a smile and it made you wonder if there was anything in the world that could possibly bring him down.

Needless to say, he didn't have any enemies and even if he did he had enough friends to put that person in check. Highly intelligent, but overly modest. He put up a ridiculous front to dissuade the idea that he had any train of thought.

But anyone could see through this facade because when he wasn't smoothly making conversation or fidgeting in the middle of class from boredom, you could find him in a state of deep contemplation. A relaxed look swept his composition, but you can tell by the way he stared ahead of him that something heavy was on his mind.

Or perhaps there wasn't.

Maybe it was juss random thinking going on. Whatever it was, you knew there was something going down in that kid's head.

What could he possibly be thinking?

Everyone knew that it clearly wasn't what was happening in class. He already knew what was going on. Perhaps he was breaking down the few bad things that were going on in his life. Disassembling them, portion by portion, finding the best possible way to deal with it all so that he could continue to say that 'it was all good' in the end.

Then again, he was romantically linked so maybe he was daydreaming about the girl. Listing all the qualities that she possessed that he loved. Cogitating on how well the two meshed together. Fashioning a mental happy face as he thought of the way she would turn in his general direction and sport that radiant smile that he cherished so dearly. Poetically piecing together the reasons for his basorexia and need for an osculant encounter.

Or maybe it was both on a higher level. He could have been cerebrating on all of his past actions. Reminiscing of all his previous deeds and the various outcomes that came with them. Conditioning himself to not make the same mistakes again while noting the things that could be done again favorably. This learning process pertaining to conflicts, girls and hell, life in general.But through it all, you came to one conclusion:

Though he possessed an unequaled optimism and an augmented level of thinking, he wasn't any much different. It was this fact that he constantly tried to tell everyone. He felt he didn't deserve all that recognition and praise because he knew that he wasn't trying any harder than the rest of us.

And it was because of that mentality that so many had admired him for so long.

=-=-=

"EXPLANATION"

Don't get mad at me when I cordially deny your offer to lounge out.

I might have educational duties to attend to.

Possibly there are errands to run.

I could be working.

Or, perhaps I am working.

You really have no idea the main line of work I am in.

The many problems that I have to contend with and regulate.

The many conflicts affecting many relationships I'm tied into that I constantly have to alleviate.

The plethora of ideas I have to think of in order to keep things flowing in order and jubilation.

I have numerous ordeals near and far that I have to solve.

A network of struggles, a web of issues that force me to perpetually contravene my current direction of travel.

I'm constantly changing my own perspective, evolving my own position, in order to keep things copacetic.

So when I tell you that I have business to take care of, I mean it.

I have business to take care of.

There's no doubt that whenever there's down time, I take it.

Believe that. I'm Ryan Mose.

And you, don't envy me.

The same blessing you're jealous of is the same curse that keeps me bound to the title of "Regulator."

Because you see, sometimes there are situations that need to be compromised.

And sometimes, I'm the only one that can do it.

It never gets any easier but sometimes I wouldn't have it any other way.

Thank heaven that the one thing that gives me stress (minimal, mind you) is my biggest stress-reliever.

Call me crazy, but helping people makes me happy.

But I already have a full plate and they never let me finish.

Sometimes I think I have matured way too quickly.

Often, I think that I've become mildly jaded.

I was once described as an anachronism.

Perhaps it wasn't a compliment.

Cheers, suckaduck.

=-=-=

"THE WAY I AM"

So, it's about 3 in the morning when you text message me.

I call you.

And you're "hello" is is hearty, "if I text message you, distraught, at 3 in the morning and you call me, there's a good chance that you're beyond awesome."

That's juss the way I am.

=-=-=

"PRICELESS"

You were beyond lovely today.

I couldn't help but follow you with my gaze as you gracefully floated along your way.

An aura of jubilance emitted from your body.

Light would bend, going out of its way just to follow you.

Traffic would stop, anticipating your crossing.

No doubt I wasn't the only one admiring the goddess.

A million dreams of love surround her everywhere.

She makes and breaks hearts on a daily basis.

What you did with your hair today...

Priceless.

=-=-=

"SUNSET"

Sunset.

A sight so beautiful, yet rare for me personally, that everytime I happen to see it, it leaves me breathless and I truly am at a lost for words when my gaze catches it.

I find myself having to look away, and peek out of the corner of my eyes lest I want to drown in a state of emollience.

However, I frown at the thought that so many others are lucky enough to catch it daily when I cannot.

I can't help but think of its power to throw people into a state of tranquility or inspiring some to go beyond their normal circumstances and perhaps, even making some weak in the knees.

Its there, everyday.

I just miss it.

=-=-=

"WAR"

More often than not I have the perfect thing to say.

'Tis a fallacy.

The most perfect things I save for special conversation.

The many metaphors I conjure, I keep stored for rare occasions.

They're stored, saved for scenarios in which my emotions are backed up in a corner by rival emotions juss as strong.

These communities of words are my only hopes of defense from succumbing to pure infatuation.

They turn that yearning, that desideration, into something concrete, something tangible.

The give title to the definition.

This duration of peace has lasted for long enough.

The elite weaponry has to prove its worth once again.

I'm back in that historical period of wanting combat.

White flags are not necessary and are inconsequential.

The spoils of victory hold no essence without due process of fighting.

In this struggle, there are no casualties.

Only wounds.

I'm awaiting declarations of war.

=-=-=

"UNSCRIPTED"

He always was a night owl. However, tonight was an exception, his non-drowsiness blamed for a different reason.

There she was, right in front of him. Her subtle, serene aura seemed to seep into the ambiance of the room, affecting everyone but himself.

What was it about her? He couldn't tell you. He wasn't quite sure.

No, that was lie. He knew. He juss wasn't sure how to go about this one.

But what he was so intently sure about was that he wanted to lie closer to her, and whisper in her ear all that he was feeling, to hold her ever so closely and use the warmth shared between their bodies to make their blankets obsolete.

He used to be able to handle himself so well in similar situations, to make what he wanted to happen. He always dealt well in moments of pressure.He had never been in such a predicament before. I mean, it was him!: Mr. Pimpbilities, Mr. Suave, Mr. Smooth Operator. At the moment, his fellow friends were sure to look at him with sad eyes, wondering what happen to The Great Wooer, The Destructor of Female Aversion. He was The Terminator to even what used to be known as the Unattainables.

But why now? Why was this any different? Why was he, for the first time since middle-school, feeling those butteflies flutter violently in his stomach?

As he hesitated for the eleventy-billionth time, she shifted herself, her blanket moving itself out of its covering arrangement.

She shivered from the sudden presence of the cool evening air and he affectionately ensnrouded her blanket about her in a warm embrace that he used as a conduit for the one he longingly wanted to give to her.

The moonlight shone through the nearby window and onto her face. Her fair skin shone more radiant than ever before and he gazed at her more intensely than he had ever done in the past. He had always thought she was beautiful, but it was as if she had been wearing a mask and the moonlight was, just now, acting as a blacklight, revealing the inner beauty within, her internal essence at this moment permeating her physiology.

He realized he was a little scared.

His respiration jumped, his knees weakened and he was taken aback, some more of him unbeknownstly amounting under her control.

As he listened to her soft breathing and watched her rest peacefully with a cute little smile upon her face, he realized why he had been so scared. The relationship that two shared at this very moment was a perfect friendship. He hoped that it could go on, that one day his feelings for her could come to a fruition and he would be able to call her his. But this one idea occured to him and it enlightened him:

If she makes him feel the way he does now, weak in the knees and beyond confused, she must really be something.

It was a good sign of the jubilancy that might occur in the future.

And suddenly, he felt a great release and before he knew it, he was sleeping peacefully, like a baby.

He knew that this one wasn't scripted.

It was being written as he went along.


=-=-=

"RAIN"

Not long after my birthday one year, you took me on a belated birthday outing.

It was the wee hours of the morning.

The streets were so empty, it was as if we were the only two left on Earth.

The only other presence amongst us was the burgeoning rain.

I took off my jacket, shielding you from the rain as we walked into covered territory.

You laid your head against my shoulder as we listened to the methodical litany of nature, our eyes watching every individual drop.

It began to pour.

You took me by the hand and led me into the street, into the core of the chaotic torrent.

Despite the wetness causing the cotton to suffocate your rondure body, my focus was fixated on your face.

The sporadic nature of your hair in the rain was infatuating.

I was smitten by your gaze, and your face reached mine.

You gave me one of the greatest gifts in a while.

You gave me back my innocence.

When you're warm in the cold rain, you know you have something special going on.

=-=-=

"TAKEN - HAPPILY EVER AFTER"

She knows the art of beauty well.

Her eternal canvas her rondure body and angelic face.

She drapes her curves in attention-drawing vestures that sway the minds of admirers, magnetizing all masculine stares into the direction she travels.

Her face, naturally radiant and welcoming is further enhanced from breath-takingly beautiful to stupifyingly goddess-like every morning.

Her tender lips are subtly blanketed to further augment their tender, beckoning appearance.

Shadows applied to her eyes emphasize her gazes from those deep pools of brown hue.

Many long to hold her and affectionately look at her in that special way.

But to do so would be too much beauty at once, equivalent of staring at the sun.

Such consternated fears resemble shyness.

Boys rely on what she gives out.

The glances she gives to those lucky enough are moments deserving celebration.

She is already a classic, a masterpiece to the collection.

All she needs is that frame to wrap its borders around her.

To keep her safe and protected.

To take that happiness and capture it in a single representation to the world.

And she'd title herself: "Taken - Happily Ever After."

=-=-=

"PERFECT"

He sat there, on the futon, while his friend chattered away about his catch of the weekend. A graceful, asian broad whose beauty was as high as her IQ. But he wasn't in the mood to hear about girls. It was an ironic thing, being that the only thing currently occupying his mind was a girl. His buddy's voice drowned out as he got lost in thought. His voice going from a deep masculinity to a graceful, feminine serenade. He recognized the voice immediately. It was hers.

She had been on his mind night and day for the past week. He was in a confused state. He was beyond that. He felt like a fool.

There was room for doubt, but he was sure that at some point, she was feeling him too. But at that time, he wasn't so sure. It wasn't until later that he started feeling the same way.

However, at that time, she was digging on someone else. And so it went for a while, on and off, on and off...but lately, it seemed like the teeter-totter had finally evened out. The two had been getting awfully close...

Should he had succumbed to her courtesy? He could see that she was vying for his attention but like a shy fool, he pushed it away. The following day, he came with a purpose. But she too pushed it away.

But yesterday, it suddenly seemed perfect. The two had stopped their affectionate struggles for a small moment in time. The power had dissipated into both camps as the two sat along, resting together. For the first time in his life, the kid felt at peace.

But once again, the power the two had temporarily shared had shifted within the following day. Once again, it was in her possession and she used it against him like no other.

So, he sat there, ignoring his friend's conquest, thinking about that single joyous moment. And he thought maybe, if he juss waited it out again, he could reattain the moment of affecionate jubilation.

That given enough time, it would be perfect.

=-=-=

"SARANG HAE"

He glanced up at his watch as his arm swung up in front of him. As it swerved in and out of his sight he blurred out a 7:48 AM. He smiled. He was doing a lot better since he started this whole jogging thing. It was usually already around 7:50 by the time he passed old Ms. Johnson's. He jogged another block before he stopped, deciding to take a lil water break. He tilted his head back as he downed some aqua, noticing the non-azure sky. Strange...it was particularly cloudy this morning. Oh, that's right...he remembered the little storm that was going to be passing through the county for the next few days. He put on his hood as a few drops of water suddenly landed on his head. It had been a while since he had been out in the rain. In fact, he hadn't been outside in the rain since he was a child. Back when he was at the orphanage...

---

"Everyone! Everyone! Please line up and come to the living room! We have some very special people here today looking for a special kid!" announced Mrs. Foster. She jubilantly smiled to all her 'children.' Everyone jumped in line and marched from the bedroom and down the stairs.

"Hey, you think the couple today is a nice one? Like the Mose couple? They were super nice, weren't they? Oh, oh! You think they'll pick me? I hope they do! And we'll all be a happy family in a 2 story home with a real backyard! That would be fabulous, don't you think?!" It was Trina again. She was his best friend at the orphanage. And as always, she was fantasizing the perfect life she'd live with her foster parents. She did this every time.

"Haha, of course you will, Trina. You know you always get chosen for interviews!" he replied with enthusiasm. But she frowned. Dang it! He said the wrong thing! It was true, she always did get picked for interviews. He couldn't blame the couples. She was the most adorable girl he knew! But, there was one thing that broke her spirit and had kept her from attaining her perfect fantasy. She had a birthmark along her right temple. It was always an important factor for these people. She had always been embarassed about her birthmark, but now she hated it.

They were introduced to the couple of the day, the Miller's. They were all told to go outside and play while the Miller's spoke to Mrs. Foster about the potentials.

Trina was down and she slowly roamed her way to the garden. He gently follwed her, her sadness weeping its way into him.
He sat next to her.

"Are you okay?"

"Why do I always do this? I'm never going to get chosen, despite how many times I get interviewed..."

"Now that isn't true. You're going to get chosen, Trina. And do you know why?" He stood up in front of her, gently lifting her chin so she would gaze at him. "Because you're smart, talented....a good dancer! You're funny and..and...everyone loves you!" He stopped for a second, picking a rose from the nearby patch. He placed it on her right ear, concealing the birthmark and stared at her for a second. Admiring the beauty he had lived with for most of his life. "...and you're beautiful."

She smiled, her cheeks turning red.

"Trina! Trina? Are you out here?" yelled Mrs. Foster. She got up, looked at him with a wonderful smile. Her 'thank you' for cheering her up. She ran inside.

---

From the top of the stairs, most of the kids listened intently to the conversation the adults were housing. He was sitting in the window, sketching the large tree where he and Trina always chatted at.

"Hey, they said they made their decision! They're leaving right now!

"Really? Who? Who are they adopting?"

"I don't know, I didn't hear. Who do you think it is?"

No one else had a clue. Half of the kids were still outside.
....But he knew. As he looked out the window, he saw four figures walking towards a car. 3 tall adults and 1 small child.
A rose on the right side of her head.

The sky was of a non-azure. He heard a storm was coming through, but he swore mother nature was conducting his emotions outside for him. All the kids ran inside as the adults opened their umbrellas.

She turned, and waved. It was the last time he saw little Trina. The image of her face blurring as the rain splattered the window.

---

He had continued jogging. It was all he could do. It was better than sitting there feeling down, so he ran. No one ever finds their true love as a kid. It was impossible. He was barely looking up, all he could do was hang his head until he felt better. He forced himself to look up. He stopped. That woman he just passed up...

He backtracked, stopping next to the young lady.

"Trina?"

She gave him a glance. She had long hair that curved down both sides of her face. Her eyes were of a deep brown. Despite the gloomy settings, her face shined brightly. She rivaled beauty, alright. She gave him an inquisitive look.

"Have we met?"

He was in shock. Could it actually been her? It had been 15 years. What should he say?

Suddenly, a strong breeze hit. He almost lost his balance. Her umbrella fluttered, bringing her with it a few inches.
It was then that he noticed. Her hair flowing in the wind. He glanced at her right temple. There was nothing there.

"...Oh, I...I must have mistaken you for another Trina....sorry for bothering you, ma'am."

He got himself together and jogged off. He couldn't believe himself. It couldn't have been her! The world wasn't that small. What was he thinking?!
It had been 15 years. She probably was raised up the way she envisioned. She probably was the most popular girl at her highschool. A cheerleader, ASB president, going steady with the football team captain, on the debate team, loved by everyone. She probably was 22 now, in the middle of college, majoring in engineering and engaged to a well-known and respected entrepeneur!
He felt like such a fool. But he couldn't let it go. He just couldn't get over it...

---

She stood there in the rain. The wind had shifted the umbrella from her head. The rain sure was pouring this morning! She was already drenched so she decided to walk the rest of the way back without it. She didn't care if she'd catch a cold, she was just glad to be back to be in town. But what a strange encounter! Haha, he actually knew her name! How many girls could there be named Trina? Haha, oh well, she thought. She continually wiped her face, clearing the blur in her eyes from the rain.
She arrived in her home and walk to her bathroom as she prepared the shower. She just couldn't believe how badly it was raining!

It was raining almost as hard as the day she left the orphanage, she thought to herself, as she rubbed the birthmark on her right temple. She laughed, the rain had washed away her make-up.

=-=-=

"UNCONDITIONAL"

It was a cold october night. Amber rays illuminated the lonely sidewalk. The chilling breeze equaled only by her warming presence as she walked beside him, giggling. lLeaves crunching below their every step. They wandered onto the campus of his old elementary school and settled on his old playground, reminiscing of the first time the two had met.

It had the first time that he had seen his good friend since the end of 7th grade. He was at his new house, in Mira Mesa, perusing the unfamiliar faces. He was in foreign territory and he was glad that he had his charm to help him gain some new friendships. It was then that he saw her in the entertainment room grooving. She was like poetry in motion. Her body moving right in beat with the invigorating music. Every move and step she sported seemed to spread jubilation to everyone around her.

"Hey, bro, who is that?"

"Oh her? Haha, that right there, my friend, is...."

So, he asked her for a dance and conversing through the night, found it worthwhile that he had taken his friends' invitation.
The two had spent the next few months talking constantly on the phone and online. Whenever he had visited his old friends in Mira Mesa, her clique was always welcome to join them.

It was then, in mid-conversation, that he just realized something. He liked her. He liked her more than anyone else before. And as he sat there in his swing, he fell silent. He looked up and saw her face in the moonlight, looking out into Paloma's field. He got a lightheaded feeling as he got lost in her beauty, leaning his swing closer.
She turned, her gaze shifting right into his. He stopped, butterflies fluttering violently in his stomach, nervously losing his balance. He backflipped off his swing.

Beauty panned into view. "Haha, are you ok? Lemme tell you, you could've won a medal for that spectacular flip you juss pulled off." She flashed her patented smile.
"Never been better..." he replied as he, once again, got lost in her deep, brown eyes.
He didn't know what it was, but he lost sense of everything. It wasn't even confidence that made him to do what he did next.

He brought his face up to hers and planted a light kiss on her lips. Those few seconds seemed to had lasted an eternity. The only sight, the darkness of his eyelids. The only smell, the sweet scent of her perfume. The only sound, the quiet *smack* from her soft lips as his departed.

The kiss was unlike any kiss he had experianced before. It wasn't like any middleschool/highschool kiss...."ooh, some lip and maybe even some tongue!" No, nothing like that. He liked this girl inside and out. Her internal essence rivaled her external blessings. This kiss had meant something....and it made it that much better.
The two looked at eachother, knowing that this was what they both wanted. So for the rest of the time that they had spent together that night, she laid in his warm arms as they both watched the stars....

both in the sky and eachother's eyes.

=-=-=

"OPTIMIST"

He never ever met anyone else like her. If she wasn't perfect, she was close enough to it. If anyone was his TTP, it was her. He could take any song and relate it to something about her. She was that versatile.

But, she always was sprung on or with someone else. And he understood why. She was only human. He could handle that.

They were choice picks, they'd make her happy. But he couldn't help but feel small. He knew he'd be a good boyfriend, but he wasn't in her lineup. But he could handle that too.

What he couldn't handle was himself. How he always seemed to fool himself into thinking that she had the smallest inkling of affection for him. How he perceived every compliment she gave to him as a hint of something more. How he always dreamt of her. How, at school, he always seemed to notice her everywhere. How he cherished every IM, text message, call, conversation and thought the two shared.

She always talked about the qualities she wanted in her beau. In his mind, he was always throwing his hand up in the air shouting, "I'm right here!"
The kid had it bad.

But he realized that he truly wanted her to be happy. And he could handle it if it didn't include him in the picture.

So he waited as a friend, always hiding those few words he longed to tell her:
I honestly love you.

=-=-=

"BEDTIME"

He laid there in his bed, on his back. He had taken in a lot of information today. Even some life-changing advice. But all he could think about was the number 8.
A curvaceous 8....with 2 arms....and 2 legs...a small 0 atop it. With succulent lips....oval eyes of a deep blue. He named the animated number after a good female friend of his.

He dreamt up a classroom full of numbers, reminiscing when he first laid eyes on her. Her 8 sat diagonally across the room, just like he remembered. He had got butterflies in his stomach just by thinking about her....in his vision, gazing at her.
He laughed at himself for taking 3 months before talking to her. She was the nice girl he had perceived. She was everything he'd imagine in perfection. However, he was perfectly old-fashioned and a perfect gentleman.

The definition of a gentleman is a man who goes beyond himself to make everyone around him comfortable. He was known as a sweetheart and a nice guy. So everything he had ever done was assumed to be out of the goodness of his heart when in reality he was subtly hinting his affection for this girl. He reverred her as a lady, not a pirate.

He felt sick and confused. He wondered if she ever felt the same. How she was everything he wanted, everything he needed...everything inside of him that he wished he could be. He said all the right things at exactly the right times but he meant nothing to her....and he didn't know why.

But he then remembered all the good times they had. And all the compliments they exchanged with one another. He thought of the possibilities. He no longer had those butterflies he always got when thinking about her. He now felt warm...huggable...cuddable...all good...
It felt like bedtime.

=-=-=

"G*NIGHT, G*NIGHT"

She sits there in front of the computer. Winamp is blazing music while kazaa is running, downloading songs for 'previewing.'

AIM has been on for an hour and 56 minutes. She has about 12 IMs up right now. 4 she is attentively responding to. The other 8 she has forgotten in the midst of her flirtatious conversation.

The 4 confabulations dividing between 3 boys and 1 girl. The girl, her best friend, is interestingly gathering tidbits from her about the 3 boys she's conversing with.
"You're one lucky girl. I'd do anything to even have a chance with these boys. You have these 3 living on your door-step!"

She knew it was true. Though, she was modest and denied her appeal to everyone who brought up the subject. She also knew of the 3 lucky male's appeal to the school's female population. However, she wasn't in it for superficial reasons. She honestly wanted an affectionate relationship.

She had never been held that way before. She longed for a knee-popping kiss. She always wanted to fall asleep in the arms of someone while watching some of her favorite movies.
She knew the 3 boys well. All their ups; all their downs. The way they acted. What they found funny. But she was at a lost. She realized that she couldn't live with herself if she crossed that barrier. They were great guys....she just....couldn't.

She was down as ever. Once again, she messed up. Every time she finds a potential, something goes wrong. Whether it be them not feeling for her in the same way or vice versa. Or her realizing some fallacy about the male in mind. Whatever it was, there was always something. And she hated herself for being too picky, too patient and the epitomy of a procrastinator.

As she said her goodbyes and farewells to everyone, she came across one particular message in the fray of her taskbar that had been flashing for, what must of been, the past half hour. Her countenence brightened as she felt a new wave of jubilation.
And she added to that list of few a new name. Next to it, a special bullet:
"·He always says G*night, G*night."

=-=-=

"IN A RUSH"

"Bro, its your turn."

They all look at him, awaiting a respone. He looked at everyone with bashfulness. And then, those words of encouragement spouted from her lips.

"Yeah, and you better do something good. I heard you sing hella good!"

"Haha, where'd you hear that from?" he replied as he reluctantly walked on stage. He grabbed the mic, controller in hand. He looked on as everyone crowded around, awaiting his choice.

He looked at the smiling duo in the middle and the perfect song crossed his mind. "He's gonna owe me for this one," he thought to himself as he recalled the song his friend had requested on the radio the night she was listening.

"Yeah...this one's for the happy couple up front, haha. Remember this joint, bro?" He scrolled down, song was selected and the melody began. And then his euphonius voice took flight.

"It came over me in a rush.
When I realized that I love you so much,
that sometimes I cry,
but I cant tell you why...
Why I feel what I feel inside."

He looked around, letting the beat ride on, awaiting the next verse, a plethora of surprised expressions on their faces. Except for the two up front.

The two were looking jubilantly into one another's eyes, smiling joyously, as if they were in a state of nirvana. His friend gave him a nod and smile, his 'thank you'.

Taking a glance at the desire in their eyes, he closed his eyes as he began the next verse.

"How I try, to express,
What's been troublin' my mind.
But still, I can't find the words.
but I know that something's got a hold of me."

The image of her suddenly appeared before him as if he had X-ray vision only for the girl. He remembered how he had been right next to him when he called the station to play the song. He was nervous, intimidated to make the call. It reminded the singer of how he felt when he first met here, nervous and intimidated.

As he sailed through the chorus once again, images and scenarios filled his head. As time went on, he forget that she was the epitome of everything positive. The two grew close and he was glad to know that he had a benevolent friend like her.

"Baby someday, I'll find a way to say,
Just what you mean to me.
But if that day never comes along,
and you dont hear this song,
I guess you'll never know."

He was beginning to lose himself within the song. Oh, she heard the song. She heard it crystal clear. However, she didn't realize that the request was from two gentlemen. Then again, he hadn't either.

He looked around with consternation and insecurity. What was flowing through his head? He hoped it wasn't what he thought it was.

It was then that he let go. Another chorus went by and he entered the breakdown, just as it was titled, emotions fluttering through his mind.

"And when I say inside, I mean deep.
You fill my soul,
and then something I cant explain
takes over me.

'Cause it came over me in a rush.
When I realized that I love you so much,
that sometimes I cry,
but I cant tell you why...
Why I feel what I feel inside."

He poured his heart into the last revisions of the chorus, ending with exasperated breath. It had indeed came over him in a rush, as he realized that he loved her so much. The dam had finally broken as the pressure from his witheld feelings became too much.

He glanced around the room. The face of one person was the same as the next, except for hers. She had a subtle, small smile on her face as if she had known all along and was just waiting for the reciprocating feelings to become concrete.

He was winded and all he could mutter was a small, "Thank you," as he left the house.

=-=-=

"SOMETHING NEW"

I've never had this happen, to be constantly finding myself in a powerless position. My arms, my lips and my intellect all starve for her with an intensity unknown to me before.

Sometimes I'll look into those deep pools of brown hue that are her eyes and she will completely level and decimate me, making me feel beyond vulnerable, whether she knows it or not. There were those in the past that made me weak in the knees but she goes beyond that.

She paralyzes me, makes me nervous sometimes because her story rivals, if not surpasses, my own. She knows more about me than she lets on, knows more about me than she thinks. She, for whatever reason, has a commanding ambiance about her that constantly puts me in check, shuts off my "smoothness" button and sloths my thought process, bringing out the best of my insecurities, though I will not voice them. She constantly occupies all my thoughts and all known activities remind me of her broad versatility.

Its beyond infatuation, beyond being smitten.

Its respect and desideration and she, more than any other in the past, rightfully illuminates and graces that pedestal that I've affectionately placed her upon, despite her mentality to deny it.

And the fact that I've never been in this position of such extreme exposure, the point at which I seriously believe I could be easily broken, would lead one to consider that I have every reason and intention to want to break away, to harbor augmented amounts of vituperation, rancor and distrust over the force she wields over me.

But rather, on the contrary, it attracts and excites me.

I know that I need this one.

I need you.

Our whole relationship is worth it.

And I know its worth it because, and hold on, this going to get deep, but for the past few years I've been running on empty, regardless of whether anyone knew or not. And I've been having to carry this burden and various insecurities around but up until recently its been filling up, because of you. You have shown me at various times the value of my worth, given me identity. And I don't know why you've done that for me, but you have, and because of that I know that this is a good thing. And I'm sorry that I haven't exactly been as expressive as I should have.

And that's another thing. I mean, you've seen me.

At my best, I can be the most charming, smooth, cavalier and wittiest person, but I can't always be that way around you. And up until recently, I didn't know why. But I've said it before but I don't think I meant it as much but here it is: I didn't want to get with you, I wanted to be with you. Believe me, there's a major difference.

And also, I... I realized that I'm afraid of you. I'm afraid that I actually, really, truly, honestly like you more than I say, than I'll admit... more than I even know. The feelings that I have for you have put you in such high regard mentally that you're out of reach, out of my control.

And that's what I'm most fearful about: I have no control.

You've put me in such a vulnerable position, I'm powerless against you.

But I've never had that.

And I don't know what that says to you but to me, it says a lot. And because of that, I'm willing to take that chance of breaking the barriers I've built over the years for you, despite the emotional risks, because I know you're worth it. And if all fails, then at least know that I'm grateful for everything that you have done for me, whether you know or not and that I've never felt like this way before.

I mean, every girl after you will have a lot to work up to and I'd hate for them to have to be compromises.

=-=-=

"DENIAL"

I had trouble sleeping last night. I was tossing and turning for what must've been an hour. For some reason, I juss couldn't stop thinking about her.

I tried to count sheep, but the view would telescope itself into the distant horizon and lo and behold, there she was, sitting atop a white fence, with a basket of flowers, basking in the setting sunlight.

I tried reading The Great Gatsby but the narration of Nick and his splendor in hanging out with Jordan juss made me wonder. His telling of Gatsby's and Daisy's first kiss did nothing but leave me anxious.

I tried to juss jam to music, but all the tracks playing seemed to do nothing but eloquently describe her, killing me softly.

I looked up and the clock read 1:43.

I stood up, looking out my window and into the great heavens. The constellation Orion was resting in the sky, his body pointing in her direction.

I wondered, could she possibly be looking up at the same point in the sky, at this time?

Was she also tossing and turning, finding it hard to fall asleep?

Was she finding herself up because of uncertainty over her feelings?

I felt like when the time came, which would be soon, I would do something.

But its complicated.

I should have been sleeping.

Instead, I was sitting here patiently just for the chance that I might
be able to hold you tight.

In the end, I came to one conclusion:

Sometimes I wish I had never met you.

..but I say a lot of things I don't mean.

=-=-=