Traffic Jam

Red.

Leo gripped the steering wheel tightly with his left hand, his fingers constantly moving to the beat of the radio music. His right hand was resting hesitantly on the gear, his sweaty palm swirling around the shiny, gray ball. He caught one second to do a quick-hair-brush-up-and-sideway-flip styling, and then he immediately turned his eyes on the windshield. Tiny balls of clear heaven-water were now already starting to splatter on the clear glass. As the splashing droplets crash upon the car, they cast shadows upon the white, smooth face of the girl sitting in the passenger seat. She rested calmly on the leather seat, her oval head lying softly, her jet black hair flowing like black water against the bright pink pillow. Her shut eyes started opening like a bud of flower starting to bloom. Rachel had awaken.

Leo—amazed at the figure he was looking at—gulped. He quickly looked away from Rachel, trying to avoid any eye contact. As he wishfully visualizes in his mind the angelic, breathtaking, exquisite face of the girl he was previously staring at, he can’t help but give a breezy (and loud) sigh. From his face emerged tiny droplets of sweat, his mouth was starting to dry up, his lips refused to open up, his tongue stiffened. Suddenly, he was breathless.

He wanted to speak out, tell her everything he wanted to say, everything he has kept for the past three years, everything he felt—his deepest longing for her. He has already grown tired of the late-night-talks about her boyfriends, her friendly kiss-on-the-cheeks, and her comforting pats-on-the-back . He just wanted to simply place his hands on her white, silky cheeks, run them on her soft, majestic hair, and hold her perfect body close to his. He slightly turned sideways, his head brought closer to hers, his eyes staring still at the girl in front of her. He was ready to finally tell her everything.

Green.

Thoughts and More Thoughts

There's nothing to write, yet I'm still writing. My mind puts in the stuff. I'm letting my mind feel instead of letting it think.

A song.

A mirror. I see my reflection, yet I can't see a lot of things.

A roll of tissue.

My cellphone. It's quite old and it has an awfully scratched case, but it's special.

"I was inviting her into my heart..."

It's 11:50 in the evening. I should be sleeping right now but I can't.

The night is humid. I want to turn on my air conditioner but it'll ruin the environment. Will it help? I don't know. Perhaps. A little thing might be of great significance in the long run.

I'm scratching my head. No, I already scratched my head because if i were scratching my head, i'd have a hard time typing. It's incredibly itchy.

Scratch again.

My room's messy. But I love the mess. Let it sulk in for just some time.

I'm in pain, but I don't know why.

Frustration

"Okay. I feel like one of those people who's so freakin' miserable, they can't be around normal people...like I'll infect the happy people..."

-Meredith Grey

Brain Dead

Tell me, who needs sleep when you can work and study all day and all night?

Life has never been this boring. Everyday is a never-ending cycle of monotonous and similar activities. I'm beginning to hate my life (emo much?)

I need a vacation. or a cup of coffee. I need love. (desperate much?)

And by the way, remember the time when I said I was going to have a heavenly and chillax sem?

What was I thinking?

====================

So much for a blog entry. I'm worthless.