Not asking for more

Unrequited love, unreciprocated feelings, suppressed down to the very core. Not that I wanted him to care, not that I wanted him to know me, yes, he doesn't know me.

Having this Summer Finn mentality along with my I've-been-crushing-on-him-since-(only God knows when)-and-I'm-just-a-stranger kind of life since grade school (different persons, same old me) is who I am, what I'm used to. This has never changed, never will (?), not in a million years. I've always kept it to myself, I might have shared to a few perhaps, but who cares? Who am I anyway?

Summer Finn: a woman who thinks that relationships are messy, feelings just get hurt, and that love is just a fantasy (500 Days of Summer)

I may not be exactly like her, but she does have, what I believe, the 'character' of a lot of women. Some of us are just scared of getting hurt and also of hurting the other. (Or is it just me?)But in the end, we see that she commits herself to a man and about to be wed. This shows quite so that women (in my opinion) are simply complicated creatures.

Possessing the complicated outlook of a woman, I have incorporated both mentalities in me in a very, very safe and compatible way.

Admiring from afar, I do get hurt, building these unrequited feelings rather kept in a jar, hidden. I'm a complete stranger and afraid of messy relationships. He lives his life, I do with mine. We might have a chance of meeting in the future since the world is but a tiny playground, but at this very moment, I am here. And he's just out there. HE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW I EXIST. I am content, and I do not want ask for more.

Of Sinkholes and Ice Cream

Down the alley, down the road, I walk. Leaving heartaches behind, smiles I carry with me, I show them off. I walk strong, palpable to the naked eye, felt by the blind, heard by you(even with earphones worn).
Trying to comprehend my purpose, I stopped. Trying to feel the trouble of what's inside, I undressed myself.
Sinkholes were all I had. A sinkhole in my heart, a sinkhole in my mind, of the many sinkholes that I have. A sinkhole deep down inside me. A sinkhole has consumed me, a sinkhole I have become, empty. A temple of sinkholes. One sick sinkhole.
I drown myself. Drown in suffering, suffering of the numb, of the heartless. Strong yet hollow. How could it possibly be?
I wander along the streets of emptiness, of a labyrinth. I lost myself in me. I tried to grasp onto something, of reality and the make-believe. Something in between. Something I could never perchance fathom.
I felt the coldness of the still air, coldness of my warm sinkhole-heart. Is there a cure? I'm not broken. Oh, god forbid.
I know what the heart yearns, what the mind seeks, what the body desires, the cure for all these: ice cream. And perhaps some peanut butter and/or nutella.
With sinkholes and ice cream, I survive.

Mr. Darcy

The newest member of the family just wants to say "Hi!"
You may say "hello" to Mr. Darcy, too!
No updates on life yet. Just Darcy. My life revolves around him.

Walls

They were built strong and tall. The years that passed made them even stronger, impenetrable.
There's a gate of some sort, entry was allowed. The key was inside yet hidden.
She lived inside all her life. I saw her out sometimes. No, very seldom.
I saw her climb up, took a risk for a minute wondering where it could lead her, thinking if it was worth a try, only to realize no one was out. Not a single thing.
The air was heavy, suffocating.
Disappointed, she went back in. Back home. Comfortable. And happy.