pretty smart, but not pretty enough
June 6, 2009 § 4 Comments
I am must be desperately in love with this man. For now, I guess. But, the only I really wanted to say to him sounds like a mad thing of anger. Because the only thing I wanted to say is,
“Is it so important for you to feel as the important one more than anyone around you, isn’t it?”
I wonder what the answer is.
What happened in the past few months is the coolest thing that happened in my life. My happiness started slowly, but ended so fast. I feel like a notebook. People use notebook to help them to do some important things. They write down on it with a few words, which sometimes need a long time to understand what they should do, after read what was writing down on notebook. But, after all things have done, they’ll forget about the notebook.
I know I can learn easily about anything, including understanding some lessons. I’m the hard working one, I try to finish my assignment as fast as I can be and doing the best for it. Last semester, I helped him to do his assignments. Sometimes, I was working on his assignment. I accompanied him, wherever he wanted to go. I supported him trough some difficult situations.
I’m not hoping much more than anyone around me. I know some of my friends were thinking that something happened between him and I. Actually, there was nothing happening, not even a thing. Even tough, I was hoping something. But, I always know nothing will happen.
Sometimes I let his ignorance hurt me, to make him believes that I take him as a friend and I don’t have any special feeling for him. So that our friendship still feel normal. Nothing changes.
I can’t be with him. He won’t even like me. I’m the messy one. I don’t care how messy I look. I don’t think I can’t help it. I am not a pretty girl on magazine, I know I am not. That’s the life I live without. It’s my real life and I have to face it.
End of semester, end of it. He won’t be beside me anymore. I don’t know whether I’ll forget about him or lose my feeling for him or not. He is not worried about me, so I’m going to let my feeling flow wherever it wants to go.
And if he’ll ask,
“why are you questioning like that?”
I’ll answer, “because for me my dreams are withered and died”