Rendezvous
12 December 05 : 12.12 PM
He wants me to be another girl.
He wants me to change my dressing, change my hairstyle, be prettier, be taller, be skinnier, be more active, be more agreeable, be more sociable, be more popular, be more jc-ish, be less lian, be cool (or at least his idea of it), drink, smoke, go clubbing more, act like I care and ask him to quit smoking, have more cool friends, not whine so much, not need him so much, not need to see him all the time, not want to be with him all the time, be more selfless, be less insecure, be more giving, be less demanding.
He wants me to be another girl, that's what he wants.
But he was the one who kissed me, upside down at a park, and it was 3am and I didn't love him. He was the one who slipped the letter into my wallet without me knowing, he was the first to look at me intently and say, "You're beautiful." (and you're the second) in that particular fashion like in a photograph. He was the one who held my hand and kissed me when I cried. He said, it's going to be okay, and it was okay. He used to tell me all the time how important I am to him, how lucky he feels to have me, how beautiful I am. He used to want to hold me all the time. We used to be able to lie in bed watching old movies the entire day, feeling totally comfortable and never feeling like we've wasted time. We used to make plans.
Did I change him? Or am I changed? I think I loved him, anyway.
You ended the letter saying, by the way, don't think I didn't notice the tears in your eyes yesterday...
Not because you think we should stop this, but because we started.
And this is the reason why.