Scribbling Business: The Ink Decides All

ii. sweet dreams of an insomniac

you kept me awake at night
more than the power of Nyx
there's not a single insomniac
a little delusion can't fix
if you're to be my reality,
i'll never want to sleep.

Dramatics on 2am. Phone beside my head, laying in bed, coffee on the desk. Romantic night lamps. Perfect combination.

"I've been dreaming about you all my life, you know. You're the apple of my eyes, the yee to my haw... Ugh, it's so cringe!"

I buried my face on the pillows. "You lovestruck bitch..." I murmured to myself, basically rotting on my bed now. "He's straight, he won't like you... in real life, at least."

I let out a soft sigh and stood up to sit on my spinning chair. I grabbed my notepad and a pen on my desk. I played with it for minutes, my eyes wandering on the solace of my room.

"What do I do..." I thought, my hand subconsciously scribbling my paper. It's now filled with crossed-out words, small drawings of hearts and flowers, and lines and curves that covered the sides of it.

I ditched my hesitation and tossed it to the spacious side of my brain and started writing. "Please see me after class," I wrote, only to erase the pleasing. "School garden, under the crape myrtle tree. Be careful of the aphids."

I threw my pen on its pen cup, which didn't shoot to my dismay and frustration. I drained my energy on writing that confession letter, I don't need any more burden.

I pushed myself out of my swivel chair and settled in back to my bed for the night, making sure that I have some for tomorrow.

Fuck the night lamp, it can turn itself off.

"The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell, and its function is..."

The healthy noise of discussion slowly faded away as I lost my focus, my eyes focused on his smile when certain information was talked about. The slightest shine in his eyes showed just how eager he is to listen.

Oh my goodness, I am lovestruck.

"Daydreaming, mister?"

I was interrupted by the teacher calling my name. I cleared my throat and stood up.

"What is the function of the mitochondria?"

"The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell, and, um..." I murmured, my legs freezing. "They generate energy by charging plugs and-"

"Sit down." the teacher ordered, to which I complied. "Does anyone else want to answer the question?"

He almost immediately raised his hand and stood up. "The mitochondria is, infact, the powerhouse of the cell, as said," he explained. "And it does makes energy for the body, also as said, hence the name. But it doesn't make energy by using charging plugs."

The whole class looked at me, while I remain rooted to my seat, my cheeks heating up. Not because of embarrassment, but because of amazement.

"It makes energy by a process called 'oxidative phosphorylation'," he added. "Basically uses and processes ATP."

After class, I ran past his locker and quickly slid it there. I was about to run away whenever I heard my name from behind.

"Y-Yes?" I asked.

"I was wondering if, um, we can hang out?" he requested, patting my shoulder. "I can teach you a lot."

I thought about it for a while. That would mean spending more time with him, but more studying time. "Not interested yet," I replied, giving him a shy smile. "You could check your locker for a letter- nothing!" I exclaimed, before rushing out of the school and to the meeting place.

I took my phone out and wore my headphones on the way, listening to music to try and calm the storm that reigned in my mind. The loud thumping of my heart is making my chest hurt. These weird emotions are slowly drowning me.

Arriving there, I rested my back on the tree, as the sun started to set. It looks so calm, so nice, almost... romantic. But I was still alone. So I took a short nap.

I woke up to a small tap on my knee.

"Hey."

"You came."

"Oh, yes, I did."

I quickly stood up and adjusted my now-wrinkly clothes. "So, um, you read the letter?" I asked.

"Yeah," he replied. "Let me guess. You like me, huh?"

"How can you read through me so fast?!" I frustratingly exclaimed, before pouting at him.

"This move is a classic way to confess," he replied. "Thank you, and yes, I like you back. I don't want any more cheesiness on this, so let's go now."

I jumped on his back for a piggyback ride. "Can't wait for you to read the poems I write for you."

"You're into poems? Didn't expect that."