Entry 7
Saturday, May 22, 2004

(Before I continue, I would like to mention that sometimes, my good friend, Gina, would give me some heartfelt writings which she would give me to post here. This is one of them. To Gina, thanks for giving them to me!)

whisper me a tune of love, of black and white and champagne roses, of lost words in the faerie age, of waterfalls and oceans and viciously burning passion, of the stars hung up in the nightsky, of golden music, of silver bass, of lost feelings, of technicolor illusions, of cherry blossoms falling --

and watch me fall.

- - -

do you hate yourself, do you, when your heart beats faster simply when he's holding that black and brown flute of his, staring into blank space with those cedar eyes? you've been lonely all your little life, you little girl of a mere 14 years who thinks she's all grownup and no longer the small child.

the way your legs go numb just looking at him when you stare into a seemingly empty space? and when you turn away, you little girl, your eyes can never help darting back nervously, almost shyly to where he perches with his flute? the way you flushed when he held the white rose so lightly between those lips of his, and you still deny so many charges.

no one's going to scold you, you know --

and yet you reproach yourself. pretending always to be someone you're not, tell me, why do you have to go and make things so complicated. you're just a little girl, and you still throw tempers and hop around yelling and screaming.

what right do you have to pretend to be an adult, tell me, tell me. everyone sees it, but you just pretend they don't, and you continue pretending to yourself and others. the whole world knows, they do.

you try to pretend your feelings and your emotions still last, but in fact even as you are deceiving yourself they are slipping away -- pound by pound, the burden is being lifted, but there's a new one coming down.

it's no lighter.

the whole world knows, and they are going to tell you someday -- but you pretend that they are nagging. cover your ears, shield yourself away from the truth you've been hiding from yourself for so long.

finally the truth is ripped out from your inner being. you stand there stark naked in the winds of mockery, all your pretence and foolish lies torn away. what do you feel, you silly little girl, do you feel dirty or do you feel cleansed.

then from that cold, lonely position up there you hear the familiar sad melody of a flute, and you look down, almost ashamed, cloaking yourself once again in the scant shadows of lies left --

he stands below, his cedar eyes tainted by that sadness you never saw, his cedar eyes seeing through the dark cloak, you sense his eyes pricking you so sensitively, and you flinch.

you know, he knows who you actually are. despite all those pretensions and the web of deceit you've carefully woven around yourself, you revealed yourself in those precious few moments when you met his eyes --

you know it, don't you --

don't lie, don't pretend anymore. it does you no good.