Blinded by the ludicrous philosophies my father had told me over and over, I refused to let him in. I refused to let him see who I really was.
I never so much received a hug or a sign of affection from my father. He favored my brother, my cousin! I grew up believing that true love was just a way of living through whatever life threw at you. I scoffed and rolled my eyes at my friends who truly believed that they have found their other half. It was a manner of speaking, a way of living - this was what I constantly told myself. I saw with my own eyes, my father toying with my mother's affections. He used love so carelessly and there was my own meaning of love. A mask to hide the pains of living life. Just some false affections to make Earth a more beautiful place to live in. Love became nothing but torture in my mind, bringing nothing but suffering to my heart.
And then came this guy. This guy, this guy, this guy. It has been three years and my feelings of hope have grown wild. Our conversations, on the other hand, have not grown past the words of courtesy and the coy smiles of acknowledgement in front of the world's stage.
Here's to the new year - a year when school becomes vital, a year when I hope, just hope, that the small talk between us will gradually grow into feelings more tangible and, if I dare hope, mutual.
What I'm listening to : Ghosts - Little Boots
Invisible - Paul Weller
Little Bit - Lykke Li
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