Rendezvous
14 August 04 : 02.42 AM
I felt like tonight I had to be home alone not doing anything. Like a time of reflection or something except I blocked out thought with poetry and lyrics.
There are so many things I wanted to write about, but I just didn't know where and how to start. Tonight, dim lights irritate me endlessly, sad music makes me cringe and handphones are too loud for the silence.
I'm thinking back about the last few days, yet not thinking about anything in particular. The slightest things have been able to make me laugh or cry, depending on who I'm with. I'm not making any conscious effort to avoid anyone, yet in some ways, I'm avoiding everybody on a different level. There is nothing left to be said.
Yet all I can think of writing now is how I waited for you to smoke your cigarette. You drag on them the prettiest way I've ever seen anyone. Everyone I know does it in such an uncouth way, but you wrap your lips around the cigarette like you were afraid it might disintegrate.
I'm thinking of a word to describe your mannerisms. Effeminate is too harsh a word, though someone had said that about you. Refine, perhaps, when you want to be. Yet at times you're so vulgar that I get scared.
My phone rang over from his calls. I didn't answer them. I was afraid if I answer them, he'd know that I'd lied to him. I didn't want you to think I had lied to you too.
Sometimes, in my entries when I write him, they are directed to you, because I wanted you to see yourself as a third person in my life, and I know you're reading.
{This layout was created in a spur of the moment, while I was experimenting with a Tony Stone image using PSP8 while listening to Spark by Tori Amos, although I don't get the vibe of the song from this layout. Just for the record, I'd spent the afternoon searching for an obvious blunder I'd made with the html.}