Sunday, September 26, 2004

 

9.26.04

Ryan (n.) - see "arcane"

You could try to read me, but I'm not easy to peruse.

But I assure you, I'm a good book.

A good book will make you second-guess everything except the book itself.

And you will wonder how you could have lived your entire life without knowing its story.

Tell me, is it impossible?

'Cause I am the master of the impossible.

They juss didn't understand.

They put too much emphasis on the story that it overshadowed the real reason of it all: how it made that person who they are today.

People are judgemental, its true.

But are those that focus on an image worth associating with?

To me, its worth helping them.

And I do.

I never understood it all until I recalled an old maxim, an old proverb, an old addage: "The biggest fish in the river gets that way by never getting caught."

How can you possibly not like The Killers?

Do you not have ears?

She asked me, "Why?" and I was dumbfounded to know that she didn't know the answer.

So, its no secret.

Its genuine and its real.

You worry when you're lost.

Juss wait until you're found.

She really doesn't know how wonderful she is.

I wish people could see things the way I do.

The world's a wonderful place.

=-=-=

He always was a night owl. However, tonight was an exception, his non-drowsiness blamed for a different reason.

There she was, right in front of him. Her subtle, serene aura seemed to seep into the ambiance of the room, affecting everyone but himself.

What was it about her? He couldn't tell you. He wasn't quite sure.

No, that was lie. He knew. He juss wasn't sure how to go about this one.

But what he was so intently sure about was that he wanted to lie closer to her, and whisper in her ear all that he was feeling, to hold her ever so closely and use the warmth shared between their bodies to make their blankets obsolete.

He used to be able to handle himself so well in similar situations, to make what he wanted to happen. He always dealt well in moments of pressure.

He had never been in such a predicament before. I mean, it was him!: Mr. Pimpbilities, Mr. Suave, Mr. Smooth Operator. At the moment, his fellow friends were sure to look at him with sad eyes, wondering what happen to The Great Wooer, The Destructor of Female Aversion. He was The Terminator to even what used to be known as the Unattainables.

But why now? Why was this any different? Why was he, for the first time since middle-school, feeling those butteflies flutter violently in his stomach?

As he hesitated for the eleventy-billionth time, she shifted herself, her blanket moving itself out of its covering arrangement.

She shivered from the sudden presence of the cool evening air and he affectionately ensnrouded her blanket about her in a warm embrace that he used as a conduit for the one he longingly wanted to give to her.

The moonlight shone through the nearby window and onto her face. Her fair skin shone more radiant than ever before and he gazed at her more intensely than he had ever done in the past. He had always thought she was beautiful, but it was as if she had been wearing a mask and the moonlight was, just now, acting as a blacklight, revealing the inner beauty within, her internal essence at this moment permeating her physiology.

He realized he was a little scared.

His respiration jumped, his knees weakened and he was taken aback, some more of him unbeknownstly amounting under her control.

As he listened to her soft breathing and watched her rest peacefully with a cute little smile upon her face, he realized why he had been so scared. The relationship that two shared at this very moment was a perfect friendship. He hoped that it could go on, that one day his feelings for her could come to a fruition and he would be able to call her his. But this one idea occured to him and it enlightened him:

If she makes him feel the way he does now, weak in the knees and beyond confused, she must really be something.

It was a good sign of the jubilancy that might occur in the future.

And suddenly, he felt a great release and before he knew it, he was sleeping peacefully, like a baby.

He knew that this one wasn't scripted.

It was being written as he went along.

=-=-=

Docking out...
-Ryan : like a layered onion

Ryan posted this at 3:34 PM.