| Sunday, August 16, 2009 |
| Who is she? |
He looked at her from afar while she was busy working with her painting. She's beautiful, probably the most beautiful thing in his eyes. An artist of a kind, a great person, a wonderful friend; that's her. Is she perfect? No, she's not. But that's what makes her human, that's what makes her less of a dream and more of a reality. He doesn't need another dream, he doesn't need another doll. He needs her, the imperfect her.
He went back to what he was reading. He held a book in his hand, with a pen and a paper beside him. He needed all the possible motivations he can have so he can write, so he can create another story to satisfy entertainment demands.
He opened the book to the last page he was reading. He was halfway through it. It's been months since he started reading the book but he could not possibly give time to just sit and read. He glanced at her again. She's still there. She's so beautiful in his eyes. She looked more like an angel than human. She moved her hands so gracefully and every move of it simply created art. It was as if she heard what he was thinking in his mind, she glanced at his direction and suddenly gave a smile. He smiled back, and then went back to what he was reading.
He's been there for hours. But wait, why was he there again? Suddenly, he forgot why he needed to be there. O yes, wait a minute. He remembered. He was there so he can write, so he can finally write a story again, and yes, he was there so he can stare at her while she painted, so he can look at her beautiful eyes, and if luck permits, so he can have a share of that wonderful smile that he's always been caught to.
He started reading the first paragraph of the page which he was reading. He was reading but he could not understand a word. His mind was too preoccupied with matters that issued his heart. Why is he there until that time? Is it not time to go yet?
He looked at her again. He could not possibly find a reason to get bored or to be tired of what he was looking at. Sweat was all over her body. O if he could just give her a towel, or better, if he could just wipe her sweat. She used her hands to clear her face and her forehead. Is she tired? Of course she is. It's been hours too since she started painting.
He held his book closer. Wait, will he still continue reading the book? He could not understand what he was reading anymore. Will he still try to comprehend even though he knows that it is just her who will enter his mind freely?
Another glance, another smile. 'Why can't she just stop doing that?', he said to himself.
He stood from where he was sitting. He placed the book while he packed her things. But wait, before he packed everything up, he tried to write a story. Maybe a story about? No, maybe about them? He was confused. He doesn't have the ideas he needs. Will he still write?
He thought for a while. Why was he there again? Was it to write? O yes, of course. And so that he can stare at her, fall under whatever spell she had to him. He got the book from the table. He smiled and he read the last sentence of the paragraph.
He realized that he did not need any motivation after all. He can write another story. He can write about her, or them. But then again, maybe, he can write about others as well. She's beautiful, she's lovely with a face of an angel. But he can't be like that forever. He needs to do something and not just simply sit there and read a book. He fixed his things and fixed his table. While so, he saw her moving her things as well, packing up too, maybe. This is it, it's his chance.
Just when he was about to offer her a hand, the man behind him stood up and went to her direction. She looked at the man and she smiled. He gave her a peck and a hug, and then he helped her pack her things up.
It's been months since he started going there. It's been months since he started sitting there for hours. Yes, it's been months since he first saw her. Was she smiling at him a while ago? No, he wasn't. She doesn't even know him. She doesn't even know his name at all.
He walked towards her and had the courage to finally talk to her and ask what her name is. But the man behind him took her hand and they went away. Missed chance? Maybe. After all, he doesn't need her name.
He took the book he was holding a little while ago. He looked at it as if it were something precious. 'It's a nice book', he said. But he wanted to start to walk away already.
So from where he was standing, he gave a final book at what was in his hands and said. He let out a sigh and smiled. He closed it. Finally, he closed it.
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posted by Carmela @ 9:15:00 PM  |
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| "-'At any given moment in our lives, there are certain things that could've happened but did not'- By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept, Paulo Coelho |
| About Me |
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Name: Carmela
Home: Angeles City, Regio iii, Philippines
About Me: i'm someone worth knowing. i love to express my thoughts so here i am. i'm only sixteen and i'll be a college freshie soon @ UST, going to take up AB-Communication Arts.
"i'm shallow enough to appreciate bits of life's pleasures"
See my complete profile
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