It’s a love-hate relationship, I’ll tell you.
I’d began to realise how I couldn’t stop staring at her. I struggled to keep myself from striking a conversation; yet if she’d started a chat, I would’ve been weak in the knees. It was a strange, stupid feeling.
She knew how I’d felt – seeing my difficulties in breathing when she was near; but always found a way to have me regret any attempts to express my feelings.
Do you know what the advent of technology has done? It has kept me looking out for her “Last Online” hours. It has allowed me to type my less-than-intelligent lines into a smartphone, only to delete them for fear of breaking this sacred relationship – where I could keep my dignity while observing from a distance.
She knew how I’d felt – suggesting that I should meet these friends of hers; and I would obligingly attend these matchmaking sessions while my mind wandered if I could wrap my arms around her instead.
Those nights, I would have had these tunes on loop, listening to my pains in the lyrics of unknown songs. My heart took extra effort to beat as images of her formed in my mind – her face, thin and sharp; her eyes, deep with thoughts; her hands, gentle yet strong.
Years have passed. Nothing has changed, except, the feelings have started to fade. I wonder why I had ever wished she was mine; why I had fallen head over heels. The music was tainted with memories of her. I couldn’t believe how stupid and vulnerable I had been to her manipulations. I wondered if I hated her, or the pathetic image of myself tormented by her beauty.
It’s a love-hate relationship; I’ll tell you.
rustic recluse 