The Pain of Living

You told me you were leaving. That you were going home. I replied numbly that I understood. Or something along those lines. I can't remember. Nothing I said then would have changed anything anyway. And you didn't seem like you wanted -needed- anything from me.
And then you turned and walked away.

And then

my heart broke

into a million tiny little pieces.

For the first time, I felt completely and utterly alone.
The tears fell uncontrollably, as though I hoped they could wash away all my memories. Of you. And her. The two people that I had not managed to keep by my side. Two people who at that moment felt as though they were lost to me forever, lost to a dark abyss, lost to a place that I had no way of following. Two people that I had not managed to save.

It hurt. It was painful and I hated it. I hated it along with you and everybody else.



The me now accepts this as being part of living. That I can experience such pain is proof that I am alive.
It feels good to be alive.

Different

You were different. That was my first impression of you.
I still remember that day. Of course I do. It was the day we were introduced to the classmates we would be sharing our four years of school life with. I was nervous, determined to make a good impression.
We played the name game. Thankfully I was nearer to the front. You know me~ I'm terrible at names.
You were the last, I think. Or near the end. I was just thankful not to be in your place. But when it got to your turn to recite our names, you simply laughed unrestrainedly, stood up, and went to each person asking them in your strange accent to repeat their names for you.
I was shocked. It was something that I could never do. I wasn't sure whether to be impressed or appalled. You were different. To me who had been striving all my life to fit in, you were very different indeed.
The you now is still pretty much the same. If we were to be in the same situation again, the me now would take comfort in that familiar unrestrained laughter. I'd still be a little embarrassed, but at the same time I'd be smiling fondly at the you who is different. At the you who is able to accept me completely as I am. Thank you for being different.

Art Lesson

I've always been good at drawing. But creativity... that was a different matter altogether.
So when I saw that piece of art you made in art class that day, I was thoroughly impressed.
It looked like a piece of the night; deep black with colourful figures etched out. Frail but beautiful.
I didn't like you then the way I do now. But of the many art lessons we went through as children, I don't remember any other art piece, not even my own.
All I remember is that one work, and the quiet boy who made it.

Category

I remember the first time I talked to you. Or rather, you talked to me, and I replied. In all honesty I hadn't been particularly interested in you. With just a glance I had placed you in the "boring and nerdy" category. It's pretty disgusting how shallow I was...- am?
So how did things change so much? How did you go from being a girl I wasn't interested in making friends with, to becoming one of the most important people in my life, someone I cannot live without? When I look at you now, I see shelter, love, care, concern. I see someone amazingly beautiful. You created a new category in my heart that I never imagined existed.

The Same

At that age, I was already everything that I would grow up to be.
I was a philosopher; I questioned my existence, questioned the existence of the world.
I wasn't an adventurer; I lived comfortably in the box that was set out for me.
I was a dreamer; I dreamed of being an artist, a dancer, a singer... I dreamed of being in love.
It's funny how much a person can change... and yet still remain fundamentally the same.

Good Job

Aren't you proud of me?
I've managed to learn how to talk to people; how to make others laugh, how to get to know them.
Even someone like me, has managed to become someone who has friends, someone whom others want to be with.
You've worked hard, Priscilla. Good job.

Sorry

To the you who liked me, I'm sorry.
That you came to like the me who only showed you my good sides, is my fault.
That you ended up parting with the me who is actually childish and selfish, is my fault.
That all our good memories are now bad ones in my mind, I'm sorry.

That Morning

That morning, I came to school crying. I can't remember why. But as I walked off with tears streaming down, you followed.
I walked, you walked. You asked me if I was ok, but I couldn't answer. After awhile we lapsed into silence. I want you to know- I was comforted.
You might not have known it, but your actions that morning showed me what it meant to be cared for, what it meant to be cherished, what it meant to not be alone.
Even now, sometimes, when I look at a guy, I wonder if he would do the same thing for me.

First love

Dear first love,

I remember some things.

Your smile. Your funny little haircut. Your house. Your family. Your birthday party.

I don't remember many things.

How did we come together? What did we do together? How did we drift apart?

And then there are memories that may have just been dreams.

The dance. The kiss. The mistaken belief that I was in love, when I didn't even know what love is.

Socially Awkward

I tried so hard to learn their language... even though from my mouth I kept saying that I didn't care.