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.