I try my hardest to write an entry about him. I just want one entry, just one; but I could not actually do it. I had few attempts though.
From time to time, I sit myself in the most relaxed position, with a pen and a paper, or my handyphone sometimes, or my laptop most of the time, and I begin to think about him. I concentrate. I don’t let other things bug me.
I start typing things about him, things that fascinate me, things that annoy the hell out of me even. Either way, I find it amazing; it amuses me, thinking about him. He’s just too lovely. So what I do is, I try enumerating things about him, things he does, that just get me. I start to list down his matchless ways of twisting me and making me thaw.
After all I have made the long list, I just scrap it off and see a bare plot again, just like what I did before writing this very sentence.
Why? Because no matter how long the list is, it can never be enough. It can never contain every single thing he does, every single thing he is. I don’t want to have a list that lacks a few, or I bet a lot why I just love him too dearly. That for me is inexcusable.
Describing him in one sitting isn’t enough; how much more within this pretty short entry that has on it only few beautiful words?
Whenever I figure out the many ways he does to make me feel so loved, I just fail, like right now. I cannot wholly tell about how lucky I am. As to what I said, the list will never be too long.
Just imagine someone who is patient enough to harass himself around flits/gays (btw, I have not a thing against them. I like them to be honest, more than I do with straight men, or women sometimes.) for an hour only to wait until your nails get done at the parlor. He’s that kind of guy.
Just imagine someone who travels extra miles to visit you when you get terribly sick, without him telling you. He’s that kind of guy.
You see, it’s the little and the grand things he does that constantly get me. In his every move, in his every word, in his every gulp of air, he says how much he loves me, and how much of a fool I am not to love him back.
From time to time, I sit myself in the most relaxed position, with a pen and a paper, or my handyphone sometimes, or my laptop most of the time, and I begin to think about him. I concentrate. I don’t let other things bug me.
I start typing things about him, things that fascinate me, things that annoy the hell out of me even. Either way, I find it amazing; it amuses me, thinking about him. He’s just too lovely. So what I do is, I try enumerating things about him, things he does, that just get me. I start to list down his matchless ways of twisting me and making me thaw.
After all I have made the long list, I just scrap it off and see a bare plot again, just like what I did before writing this very sentence.
Why? Because no matter how long the list is, it can never be enough. It can never contain every single thing he does, every single thing he is. I don’t want to have a list that lacks a few, or I bet a lot why I just love him too dearly. That for me is inexcusable.
Describing him in one sitting isn’t enough; how much more within this pretty short entry that has on it only few beautiful words?
Whenever I figure out the many ways he does to make me feel so loved, I just fail, like right now. I cannot wholly tell about how lucky I am. As to what I said, the list will never be too long.
Just imagine someone who is patient enough to harass himself around flits/gays (btw, I have not a thing against them. I like them to be honest, more than I do with straight men, or women sometimes.) for an hour only to wait until your nails get done at the parlor. He’s that kind of guy.
Just imagine someone who travels extra miles to visit you when you get terribly sick, without him telling you. He’s that kind of guy.
You see, it’s the little and the grand things he does that constantly get me. In his every move, in his every word, in his every gulp of air, he says how much he loves me, and how much of a fool I am not to love him back.
3 comments:
i got confused by your last sentence? napaisip ako...
what's with the last line?...
Hmm. No, it's not reciprocal loving I was talking about. IT never worked that way. IT;j just that, everything he is tells me he;s the one for me.=) Ugh. Hirap i=explain. Hehe...
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