So, yesterday, I told my penpal, Matt, about you. At first he didn’t respond (makes sense, he lives half-way around the world), but then, when he did, his single line of advice was: “Go talk to her, you idiot.”
I guess they really don’t teach them much about girls in China.
I’ve got this problem… will you listen?
Well, more like read.
Life seems so futile now. At this point, there are really only two reasons for living: food and books. For my mum, those two ‘reasons’ are sex and alcohol, but hey, that’s her lifestyle, not for me to judge.
But then I think of you, and I wonder: is the third reason love?
The other day, you were sititng on the curb, just like before, but, this time, you were singing, a soft hum. I was passing by with my headphones on, so maybe you thought I wouldn’t hear you, but I did. I turned down the volume and listened.
You were beautiful.
The tune rose and fell, sometimes uneven, but sometimes right on track. However it wasn’t the technique I was falling in love with: it was how you closed your eyes, and just let it all out, lips barely moving. What was that you were singing?
Because, whatever it was, I was falling in love with it.
I was falling in love with you.
