:: b for bipolar ::

:: Friday, November 15, 2002 ::

what it's meant to be,
what you mean to me.

she turned to look at him for the last time. he wasn't crying. nor was he smiling. he reached into his pocket and groped a rectangular object. it was a block of wood with her name inscribed onto it. he ran his fingers over each letter of her name slowly. he did that thrice, then he clutched it. she gave it to him some 3 months ago, and today he intended to return it to her. of course, it would mean nothing to him anymore. and yet he clutched on.
he had nothing else to say. even when she asked him if he did. he only looked at her straight in the eyes. those beautiful eyes. just as his head began to sink, she forced a smile which implied she had to leave. she must have noticed his head sinking. he ran his fingers over the block of wood once more, while watching her walk away. he saw that she had cut her hair. and he smiled, remembering how he told her he loved her long hair. he took out the block of wood and stared at her name. he brought it to his lips and gave it a kiss. and then he tucked it into his pocket once again.
:: benjamin 9:23 AM [+] ::
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