Let Me Rest For Awhile

a love triangle that will happen

somebody tell him that he brightens up the room when he wears the plain beige t-shirt. he's calculating a math problem and i'm staring at him. he's gone with the equations, the geometry, and a much more difficult integral in his head; confused face, a pencil interlocked between his fingers and the palm on his face, thinking... he hates the cliché questions, the high school fashion, amateur ten markers.

i'm seated on the floor in the hallway. i looked at him, he's talking to his girl space friend who is infatuated with him. i don't talk to her but she hates math although she loves the free tuition he gives her. somebody tell him that he doesn't know how much he's missing out on the things i write about him and extracting, cutting out all about the girl friend into fragments so that i can be more like her. does he know she likes him?

i drew a picture of him with the funny scarf he puts on sometimes. has it been this long since he first started wearing it? somebody tell him that i can make him a better scarf because it looks odd, it does not meet the requirements of a noble graceful being like him.

it's saturday night, the live band started playing my favorite song. my friends hated the party, they wanted to ditch and smoke outside. my date could not stop touching me until i called him out and we had a fight where i left him alone with his perverted hormones.

i'm in the corner of the room, crying, wanting to be untouched, wanting to be authentic but loved. as expected by all, l'amour was there with a date—the girl friend, beautiful like a ballad poetry. they're dancing, a scene from a classic fairytale. un triangle amoureux. a love triangle. somebody tell him that i would like to fit in somewhere in his literature, if only he knew the love letters i write may outlive him.

he's lovely and steals the ache away from me then hits me harder than a bullet. it's not a typical love story, is it? he's there, i'm not. his eyes are sparkling from her beauty that reflects. my eyes are blinding from crying at a party.
but please, don't tell him i cried because i was afraid of being alone and unloved. don't tell him i bite my nails thinking about what i should say to him in case i bump into him. don't tell him i know that he does not like me and will never like me back. don't tell him that he will end up being just another guy in my story.