the boy next door.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009/12:47 AM
I live in a quiet white building. It used to be red, but as it faded with time, it looked more like maroon than red. Now it's white because the maroon building disappointed all its residents. Now, I live in a quiet white hospital.
I've never once had a feather of a dream of moving to any place different. I love this white building. It stands tall and proud on a hill, overlooking a miniscule forest and a never ending span of blue sky. I live amongst the sweetest of hearts and the most welcoming of embraces.
I live on the fifth floor on this eight-storey, white building. I take a lift, because the word elevator is too cumbersome, that doesn't reach the top floor. When I was younger, I used to think that the top floor was set aside so that ghosts and angels could stay inside. Since agitated ghosts aren't the friendliest of companies and angels were too amazingly mystical to be disturbed, the people who constructed this building ensured that no one could reach the eighth floor and bother those misty characters.
To my left, lived a suave family with a modern home. Their door was grand and made out of polished wood with a conspicuous gold handle. Parquet floors and glass table tops always trigger a jazz song playing in my head. In this very home lived the boy next door.
The boy next door is skinny and always wear shorts. He's really smart and never invites his friends over. When we were younger and when I was naive, I used to play soccer with him. Just the two of us. He let me kick the ball, in my attempt to score a goal, two metres away from his goalkeeper stance. He'd catch it anyway because he is really fast and skinny people do not need to exert much of a force to fly through the air.
One day, I was watering orchids outside and I saw him walk by. He looked at me and I waved at him. A little smirk was his only response. With a rushed jingle of his keys, he was inside.
It was on that day that I vowed that I would make the boy next door fall in love with me. How is it going so far? Only the walls of my white hospital will know. Until it's next paintjob, I pray they don't disappoint me again.
GOD I am so bored.
I've never once had a feather of a dream of moving to any place different. I love this white building. It stands tall and proud on a hill, overlooking a miniscule forest and a never ending span of blue sky. I live amongst the sweetest of hearts and the most welcoming of embraces.
I live on the fifth floor on this eight-storey, white building. I take a lift, because the word elevator is too cumbersome, that doesn't reach the top floor. When I was younger, I used to think that the top floor was set aside so that ghosts and angels could stay inside. Since agitated ghosts aren't the friendliest of companies and angels were too amazingly mystical to be disturbed, the people who constructed this building ensured that no one could reach the eighth floor and bother those misty characters.
To my left, lived a suave family with a modern home. Their door was grand and made out of polished wood with a conspicuous gold handle. Parquet floors and glass table tops always trigger a jazz song playing in my head. In this very home lived the boy next door.
The boy next door is skinny and always wear shorts. He's really smart and never invites his friends over. When we were younger and when I was naive, I used to play soccer with him. Just the two of us. He let me kick the ball, in my attempt to score a goal, two metres away from his goalkeeper stance. He'd catch it anyway because he is really fast and skinny people do not need to exert much of a force to fly through the air.
One day, I was watering orchids outside and I saw him walk by. He looked at me and I waved at him. A little smirk was his only response. With a rushed jingle of his keys, he was inside.
It was on that day that I vowed that I would make the boy next door fall in love with me. How is it going so far? Only the walls of my white hospital will know. Until it's next paintjob, I pray they don't disappoint me again.
GOD I am so bored.
self-proclamation.
My life is not a fascination worth the scrutiny of those who watch over me. Yet, I live amongst thin air and sparkling personalities.
I am an avid fan of the KoreanPop scene. So bring me to the number thirteen.
read my lips.
they're watching.
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