"Well," He leans against the crimson pillar, fixing his gaze on the ceiling. I take my time to admire the way his black-brown eyes looked to a distance as he tried to conjure up a thought, a memory that he had of me. "It was by accident, actually." He admits. "I was searching for this blog, and I misspelled its url. I stumbled upon yours and found out that you were studying in the same school as I was, and I thought maybe I should see your story."
"Everybody has a story to tell." I say to him, smiling.
"Exactly." He looks back at me, and I force myself to look away. As usual, my eyes scan the crowd for any sign of you. It has become my Wednesday-Friday ritual—looking for you. But now instead of a good book and headphones to keep me company, next to me is a warm, live body talking to me, keeping me company, waiting with me.
"Do you think he's gonna come today?"
He shrugs his shoulders and offers me a hopeful smile. I cup my chin with my hand and rub it slowly, brows furrowed. Once more, I try to look for you, aware of the passing time and thinking of the next words to keep our conversation going. I was never good at it—conversations. It was ironic how good I was with words and how bad I was with socializing. Maybe it's just me, or maybe there's this wall I'm trying to tear down but it just won't budge that easily.
"Don't you ever get tired of it?" He asks. "Waiting for him? Hoping he's here?"
I laugh, and the sound comes off in an tune that seemed out-of-place in the Palma Hall soundtrack. "No."
"You really do want to meet him." He says. "You really do want to be his friend."
I look at him. There's nothing I can do but smile and nod.
0 comments:
Post a Comment