This was what I wrote last night. Actually, it was early this morning, at 12.33 a.m.
I don't wanna feel you coming over me
Like some leech that won't leave the skin.
Rejected, we're delaying
Precious time that we could spend
in the same bed
on the same couch
with lips locked tight
in a symbol of love.
But you are an image
Whose depth I cannot reach.
You don't touch me
Though I want you to
hold me tight when things go wrong
So far away.
I'm tired of not knowing
The immensity of your being.
And when the tables are reversed
You'd be wanting me to spill water on you.
And so my sun casts great shadows
bathing you in perfection,
wanting you to look towards the East...
But you're blinded by the rays
And so you never looked.
This is one of my favourite quotes from "Romeo and Juliet": It is the East, and Juliet is the Sun. Not that I've actually read the play, but I do own a copy of it together with the 1996 (I think) screenplay, and I was flipping through it last night, and gawking at how beautiful the words are.
Anyway, I got an email from a guy telling me he liked my review of "Rebel Without A Cause". Yay. Always good to get feedback.
Last night I was revising Physics, and at around 11.10 p.m., I came online to fix some html crap in this diary. I was going to fix them and put up some fanlist codes thingy and shut the computer down and either sleep or write or go back to writing out Physics stuff, but unfortunately for me, Dad came in and I wasn't quick enough in switching off the computer screen. You see, I'm "not allowed" to go online at night. For what reasons, I don't know, and I don't care.
It was just so unfair, because he came in a while earlier when the computer was not on, and I was really revising Physics. I mean, hello. I got an F9. Reason enough for me to revise, you know? The paternal figure did not believe me when I insisted that I switched the bloody machine on only a while ago, and he looked through all the pages I've visited, including my email and this journal. Fortunately he doesn't know English, and I fibbed to him that this diary is Yunnie's page (sorry dear, had to lie on the spot!). I suppose he was mad, but do I care? No. He kept asking what the pages were about, and half the time I hadn't the slightest clue how to say things like "guestbook" in Mandarin. And he accused me of not telling him on purpose! Like it's my fault all these shit are written in English and he doesn't know the language!
After he went away I lost interest in anymore revision, so I started writing all sorts of rubbish in my diary, the poem inclusive. Isn't it quite obvious from the poem that I was really bored last night?
I don't know if I actually mean any of it though. Maybe, maybe not. I think I'm just going to let time wash this dumb infatuation away. That's the best thing to do, if you're me. Trust me. I know.