Boy

Boy

Boy takes a sip of his drink, watches his empty screen, as contacts from his messenger starts to come up. He waits, look through the 200 contacts, and see 100 of them online. He waits. And waits. Nothing happens, and he gets up to go to the toilet to look at himself.

Vanity struck him whenever the world is starting to collapse around him, watching as his eye trace the lines of age across his pimpled forehead. His stubble is growing more obvious, and he scratches it unconsciously. How would i look like in a few years time? He sighs at his scrawny frame, but throws that notion away and just stared at his flaws in his facial features.

He imagines that girl is somewhere having fun, a place far from him that he cannot get to. He tries to ask girl out, but to no avail. He doesnt know what to do but to wait for each day to pass silently and hope for a miracle. That was what happened the last time, but he knew it will never happen the same way again. History does repeat itself, but in the crimes of Love and Hate, it never does. It goes into a crawl, as pages of new memories start to rewrite themselves in his mind. What would have happened if i had done this, or said this? The possibilities are endless, and it just drives him crazy with anticipation, wonderment and ultimately regret.

He walks towards his bed, and lies on it, again watching the fan move in its routine movement. Never did he felt so lonely, the silence of his room growing deep with unease. The music didnt help. It just served to compound the complexity of quietness inside his mind. God didnt make us into corresponding shapes and puzzles pieces from the clay, so sang Iron and Wine. Isnt that just so darn true, boy thought. No wonder it will never happen between us, and with that he threw himself at the pillow and started crying.

The tears flowed from his eyes and into the softness of his pillow, his trashing never stopping as his regrets fills his heart with pain. The many people walking by serve no purpose but to further embarrass him, laughing at this fragile being. Which guy cries at the sight of despair, they said, and laughed at him even more. What is this strange creature who even dares to say he is almost a man?

I kiss the silence of the night perfectly with my lips, watching as characters form on the laptop screen on this cold darkness. My fingers slowly pushes down on the buttons, waiting for the next thought to come into my head so i can continue the barrage of regrets and silent inhibition on my soul. My fingers waits as the music drills into my head, the slow guitar never falling to break my heart at the same time as make me feel ever so cold. My fingers pushes the backspace, deleting words of nonsense that i never wanted to tell, but came out anyway from the verges of my broken mind. I dont know why am i feeling this way, the vagueness of everything leaving me wondering even more what am i doing with my life now. I dont know what i am talking, i dont know what i should be doing, and i dont know the meanings of words and names, especially the names that start to come out from my head.

Boy doesnt know what to do as he silently watches the fan move. His tears have dried, and all he could think of now is her face. What have he done? Confused and never wanting to feel this way, the rage inside him burns, only to cause himself even more pain. What am i doing in my life? What am i doing? Why am i feeling this way? Am i desperate? Wishing for something that i dont have? Jealous that i dont have that? Or just plain crazy?

As the papers flutter off a pile of notes, he watches as his life flashes past him. Notes and notes. More notes is all he is living in. A life full of footnotes that nobody notices.

The sky breathes a sigh of relief as the clouds cover the bright full moon, her nakedness burning into the brown eyes of boy. The clouds seem to dance in beautifully, grace mixed with the gentle wind that shapes the clouds into perfect shapes of imaginable meanings. As the starts twinkle in the distance, boy sighs again, and lets his tears flow for a second time.

I had waited for responses from people whom i had hoped would have response. And when i got it, i was happy, but i never did anything beyond that. I never wanted to do something that would have impressed. I didnt like that effort, and knowing full well that it might just lead to disaster. A 50-50 chance that i didnt want to take. My friend had told me, while i was playing winning eleven on the PS2, that i had to take chances, if not i will never win. How true. The next moment, i used that chance and true enough, i had the first goal against him for quite some time. He told me i had no confidence in myself too, and it shows in everything i do. I am afraid of criticism. Afraid of hearing that people would choose other people over me. Afraid of rejection, and feeling very outcasted whenever i know somebody is better than me. The wall that i create for myself is difficult to break down.

Or maybe i just hated the effort needed, for i am again afraid that i will do nothing but damage.

Boy made an effort to breathe proper. What was he doing so late into the night? The darkness had already given way to light, and all he could do is watch the fan again and again. The birds outside started their morning cries, a sign that he has wasted a whole night away just thinking of the perfect disaster. But he doesnt care. He wants something so badly, but he was afraid of himself, afraid, and knowing full well that he doesnt know anything. He is unable to impress and he is broken by that fact. the Depression takes over him, and he vows to remain this way unconsciously.

A long entry that nobody will read it, lest understand what i am trying to get at. It will only serve as a poetic ending to yet another meaningless night of sleeplessness.

Justin ranted at 3:23:00 am on the
4 March 2007
0 comments