tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37113909948670036342024-03-21T00:27:21.729-07:00As Told By Greta"All we are, all we can be, are the stories we tell. Long after we are gone, our words will be all that is left, and who is to say what really happened or even what reality is? Our stories, our fiction, our words will be as close to truth as can be. And no one can take that away from you."Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12635688254828590614noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711390994867003634.post-38270963940925272202009-10-02T02:44:00.000-07:002009-10-02T02:48:00.418-07:00Para Kay Tatay. :)<br><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">When I was a kid back in Norway, I didn’t have any friends. All the other kids in our neighborhood were a lot older than me so I didn’t really get the games that they played, and they never bothered to engage in mine either. Also, they seemed to treat me differently because I looked different. I did have one playmate, though. And back then, I considered him the perfect playmate. He was cooperative, imaginative, and he never got tired of the games that we played. And no matter what we did, he would always, always let me win.<br /><br />And so I had a joyful childhood, thanks to my dad. :)<br /><br /><br />I was looking at our pictures a few days ago and that’s when all those memories came rushing back. It’s funny how at first, you think about the loved ones you’ve lost every single day. Then eventually, you realize that you no longer think about them as often as you used to. That leads you to believe that you’re okay now, that you’ve moved on. But it only takes a few dumb things for you to feel the same flood of emotions that have been hiding underneath you. <br /><br />The pain hasn’t gone away, and maybe it never will. It’s a part of me now, and that’s just something that I’m gonna have to live with.<br /><br /><br />I miss him. I really do. Belated happy birthday, papa. :)</span>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12635688254828590614noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711390994867003634.post-63031007095786737842009-09-04T06:55:00.000-07:002009-09-04T07:21:06.987-07:00Nostalgia.<font size="2" face="Times"><b><br><i>Back in my freshmen year, we can't make calls using our home phone line and you actually have to buy this card (digikard) to be able to make a one. I was using this card to call this girl everyday after class. Hindi pa ako nagpapalit ng school uniform, tinatawagan ko na siya. We were on telebabad mode. During dinner, after dinner, while doing our assignments, and before we go to bed. Everyday and every night! And then every friday we used to stay up late and just talk about everything and anything until we fall asleep.<br /><br />The girl's name is Rossann. She was using her Hello Kitty phone back then in her bedroom (which makes a very crappy sound) and I was using our wireless phone (which was always lowbatt). We became MUs, then came Sep 4, we became Lovers. (big grin) haha! Thanks to Digikard! Eksaherado! Imagine, I courted her for 1 year! But uh.. we broke up after a month. hahaha! And then came my Junior year, I tried to win her back with the help of my digikard and then panalo na naman nung May 24! But we broke up again 13th of June the same year. Wala pang isang buwan. Fail! But it's okay. Learned a lot. :)<br /><br />So now you know the story behind the Cupid (Digikard), and that there was a girl named Rossann who made my heart beat like Manny Pacquiao on a Hyper Mode and like Susan Roces saying "not once, but twice!"</i></font size="2" face="Times"><br /><br /><br />I couldn't help smiling when I read this because it brought back so many memories of my very first encounter with love. <br /><br />I was fourteen years old at that time and I knew nothing about relationships so we didn't even last for a month, but I remember how my heart would jump whenever I'd see him and how my cheeks would redden each time he'd start talking to me. <br /><br />And though we barely spoke in person because I was just too shy, we would spend countless hours talking on the phone. Thoughts of him consumed me and there was always nothing that I wanted more than to get home and wait for my silly hello kitty phone to ring. <br /><br />I remember how my heart raced when he sang to me and all those letters and text messages that I kept and read over and over again before I went to bed.<br /><br />I remember the perplexity, anxiety, and aggravation that came with the love that I felt; an innocent love so totally devoid of knowledge and understanding that was best expressed with disguised gestures, words left unsaid, and actions that misled. <br /><br />I remember the heartbreak best of all, that insufferable pain that made me appreciate and want love even more. You see, fairy tales are always more beautiful once you've seen them in reverse.<br /><br />It's already been five years, and looking back, one might say that what I felt was not even love to begin with. Maybe it was just a deep-seated longing to connect with another human being, an insatiable yearning tainted by conflicting emotions and illogical ways of thinking, or some hunger to experience what I'd seen in movies and read about in books.<br /><br />Well, one may call it whatever he wishes to call it, but in my heart of hearts, I am absolutely certain it was love: childish, selfish, bittersweet love. :)</b>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12635688254828590614noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711390994867003634.post-61750345006433570142009-08-21T07:32:00.000-07:002009-09-09T21:19:22.709-07:00La Lalala Lala.. :)<span style="font-weight:bold;"><br><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSWITy5Btbn4xlnS4RBVWe2WQYheCryOeQTmL9ilxzGBjjWZ1bqQbP8GYRNi6okMiZJc-H1c9rFnmhMTziC3gazaTJMhU0M5aECaf0cqev6oCEnpXLdFSrW34JesTChQAC-zMaZ2vmxak/s1600-h/this.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 142px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSWITy5Btbn4xlnS4RBVWe2WQYheCryOeQTmL9ilxzGBjjWZ1bqQbP8GYRNi6okMiZJc-H1c9rFnmhMTziC3gazaTJMhU0M5aECaf0cqev6oCEnpXLdFSrW34JesTChQAC-zMaZ2vmxak/s200/this.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372426918479475570" /></a><br><br />She’s standing near the edge of a cliff, taking in the beauty of everything around her. And she knows she has to go, because she’s just moments away from falling; with one wrong move, she might end up tumbling over the edge.<br /><br />Yet, she can’t turn her back on the magnificent view. Something is stopping her from leaving. It’s the slightest possibility that she might not end up falling after all.<br /><br />For she could see herself flying, with outstretched arms over the mountains and hearts falling from the sky. Butterflies would be chasing after her. And everything would smell of flowers, red sweet-scented flowers. Oh, the view from the air must be divinely beautiful.<br /><br />So she turns to face the one holding her hand, and tells her that she loves her. And as she takes the leap, she closes her eyes, and hopes against hope that she would want to fly along with her. :)</span>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12635688254828590614noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711390994867003634.post-51968840545895422222009-08-05T01:30:00.000-07:002009-09-09T21:22:24.913-07:00Vicious Cycle.<br><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix0OZSi6h8HCvxeEIrO98yEA0Hng_qdZViGqEW-te7-OcE6xQ_gq36QFs0IIYnareyHLSLaGdua44aDhFFHF0STRXrFoxA9sIhpzHk-R4grjWWnQ6LScXfE7rhbl6fBGWj3a__OySn-ts/s1600-h/z185685514.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix0OZSi6h8HCvxeEIrO98yEA0Hng_qdZViGqEW-te7-OcE6xQ_gq36QFs0IIYnareyHLSLaGdua44aDhFFHF0STRXrFoxA9sIhpzHk-R4grjWWnQ6LScXfE7rhbl6fBGWj3a__OySn-ts/s320/z185685514.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367028186462948498" /></a><br><span style="font-weight:bold;">It’s over and you know it. Nothing that you say or do could ever change the fact that she no longer wants to be with you. Yet, your world continues to revolve around her. You live for those fleeting moments when she suddenly comes back and everything returns to the way they used to be; and regardless of how she makes you feel afterward, you are undoubtedly hopelessly, shamelessly, desperately in love with her, and nothing else matters.<br /><br />It’s not like you haven’t made an effort to stay away from her. God knows you’ve been struggling to forget her, but hard as you try, there’s just no way you could ever live your life without her.<br /><br />Even if you know that she’s only after you whenever it’s convenient and your feelings for her will never be reciprocated in the same way that you give it, you’re too blinded by your love for her to care. That’s why you just settle for whatever it is that she’s willing to give and pretend that you’re contented with the way that things are between you.<br /><br />All you really want is to be appreciated and cared for, and at this point, it’s the most you can hope for.<br /><br />You’ve learned to keep all the worries, hurt, and sadness that are whirling inside you hidden on the farthest corner of your heart just so that they could momentarily vanish while you’re with her. There’s nothing you’re supposed to feel but bliss when you’re around her. Yet, as soon as you part ways, the realization that you are alone and always have been hits you.<br /><br />Then you ball yourself up, and cry your heart dry.</span>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12635688254828590614noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711390994867003634.post-30031281475628456862009-07-23T19:08:00.000-07:002009-07-27T07:11:52.842-07:00Reminder To Self:<br><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-weight:bold;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDDah8BRFeW9jL5julDKrJJmiM-lBv4tBgXe8IJ-wugdguxQI1tW-B4HcE8bQwMAU6zV_TNKZb2_TDbi2VH3on2vh6PUrSUTn6UvNBgjUIsyPnY4XqE4YmGdMPlBdHahEeP_cdK_Sc_Lo/s1600-h/z188761003.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 83px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDDah8BRFeW9jL5julDKrJJmiM-lBv4tBgXe8IJ-wugdguxQI1tW-B4HcE8bQwMAU6zV_TNKZb2_TDbi2VH3on2vh6PUrSUTn6UvNBgjUIsyPnY4XqE4YmGdMPlBdHahEeP_cdK_Sc_Lo/s320/z188761003.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361845449692367298" /></a><br /><br /><br />Haha. Nasa Condo ako ni Tj. Pero hindi niya naman ako pinapansin kasi nag-aaral siya for her Chem Quiz. Dito ako natulog. :)<br /><br /><br />Magdamag na ko nag-iinternet. At kailangan ko nang umalis.<br /><br /><br />Ayun. Gusto ko lang magblog. XDDD<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Si Tj na nasestress sa Org Chem in her most dramatic voice:<br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />"I'm so confused with Chem.... I'm so confused with life!"</span><br /><br /><br /><br />Hahaha. Walang kwentang post. XD Ligo na ko! :D</span></span>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12635688254828590614noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711390994867003634.post-30175746845245500342009-07-20T03:15:00.000-07:002009-09-09T21:22:01.096-07:00Chorva.<br><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5n8V4gMZOCA23JEP5RMjrwbnmsUDBUZ5sigDhjQKH8PnYFZUkSrpg0HLqSVngvRCoFw_Qp1ue0tPD5Skd-EHIpxAd-MzAYhDDS0XJgJ1EJMfOmZWctkLAPHAp94L1y59itzy-vNJ3WU0/s1600-h/s.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5n8V4gMZOCA23JEP5RMjrwbnmsUDBUZ5sigDhjQKH8PnYFZUkSrpg0HLqSVngvRCoFw_Qp1ue0tPD5Skd-EHIpxAd-MzAYhDDS0XJgJ1EJMfOmZWctkLAPHAp94L1y59itzy-vNJ3WU0/s320/s.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367035476604668722" /></a><br /><br><span style="font-weight:bold;">We’ve just finished eating- Cathy, Chelsea, Cindy, Jhie, and me; but we have nowhere to go and nothing to do, so we’re just sitting around and waiting for Dave. Surely, he would come up with something fun for us to do.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">“Wala tayong pinatutunguhan ‘pag wala si Dave.”</span><br /><br /><br />We talk about random stuff. Blockmates. Crushes. Professors. People we dislike.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />“Nasa’n na ba si Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaave.”</span><br /><br /><br />Someone mentions <span style="font-style:italic;">Bababe Akong Namumuhay Nang Mag-isa</span>, and I talk about my fear of being single forever. Cindy and Jhie says they share the same fear. Then Chelsea, who always knows the right thing to say, says that the chances of that happening are slim. She enumerates reasons why. Cathy agrees. But we don’t seem convinced, so we just make a pact that the three of us would marry each other if we turn out to be single at forty-five. <br /><br />Then, we talk about lesbians, bisexuals, gay men, culture, and even religion.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">“Ang tagal naman ni Dave.”</span><br /><br /><br />They talk about anime and my mind starts to wander. Thirty minutes later, we’re all bored and annoyed, and sweaty from the heat. <br /><br /><br />Still no sign of Dave. <br /><br />So, we all complain about his schedule and how we all have nothing to do when he’s not around.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">“E pano pa ‘pag nagkagirlfriend na si Dave?”</span> I ask out of curiosity.<br /><br /><br />They all seem to loathe the idea. Cause then, he’d be spending even less time with us. <span style="font-style:italic;">Wala nang mauutusan, wala nang magtatake-out, wala nang kukuha ng discussion room sa lib, wala nang mapagtritripan.</span><br /><br />Then, we find comfort at the thought that he doesn’t seem to be interested in anyone anyway. And once we start talking about his lovelife, he suddenly appears.<br /><br /><br />We tell him about how we’d all be sad when he gets a girlfriend, but he looks clueless, with no idea of where that thought came from. So, when Cathy explains it to him and tells him how we would all be affected by him having a girlfriend, he just laughs, and says, <span style="font-style:italic;">“Therefore.. appreciate me?”</span> with those big eyes and wide smile that remind me of Santino. :D</span>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12635688254828590614noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711390994867003634.post-82348507062443719092009-07-11T20:32:00.000-07:002009-08-06T17:05:54.021-07:00Abstruse<br><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeQAvFf2gnBTxy_RXpwNh1yAqKJRf3kVOziMTyP72dnWCst-rX2aaB82hpZ004uN3qGqYC9Cnh-SkGMNYGU1firp9dIUcEDhRKLy7LYLnGY8D3X-oNbrPCmfgO4VcCPoGWCBThR9AX63w/s1600-h/bbbb.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeQAvFf2gnBTxy_RXpwNh1yAqKJRf3kVOziMTyP72dnWCst-rX2aaB82hpZ004uN3qGqYC9Cnh-SkGMNYGU1firp9dIUcEDhRKLy7LYLnGY8D3X-oNbrPCmfgO4VcCPoGWCBThR9AX63w/s320/bbbb.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367006216460055842" /></a><br /><br><span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">Flying dreams signify the wish to lighten up, become unburdened by worries, and break away from conventional norms, mores, and established ways of thinking.<span style="font-style:italic;"></span></span></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">I was convinced that I had to give up, for I had already spent an eternity by his side, patiently waiting for him to notice me. Yet all my efforts were futile, ‘cause no matter what I did, he just didn’t see me. <br /><br />...<br /><br />Saying goodbye to someone who doesn’t even know that you exist is pointless, but I did it anyway.<br /><br />Still, I got no response. He was staring blankly ahead. <br /><br />...<br /><br />My footsteps echoed in the silence. I looked back over my shoulder at that face that I knew so well, and felt an onslaught of tears rising once more. All I ever wanted was to have a share of his world, but as it seems, the odds of that happening are fiercely against me.<br /><br />My heavy heart felt lighter with every step. And at some point, I was weightless. Gravity had ceased to exist and I was just floating in the air, blissfully unaware of how weird this all was. <br /><br />...<br /><br />He is the epitome of everything that I want but I just can’t have. And a while ago, I was standing right next to him.<br /><br />I should have known that I was just dreaming. :)</span>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12635688254828590614noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711390994867003634.post-87875138740067233952009-07-05T01:50:00.000-07:002009-08-06T17:15:30.985-07:00Hopeless Chase.<br><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFD6culhbol4qEwIcI-wTMxn6S1UUBCIz4SODCLTAqfuDFmFxJwpXCfkgBZQFQNM8ExwRjOjjnSov1igK6ierMkjzWcy7mvRBmva4Q3Nsq5eoMOg-RgZQubqNxGBtpbiIuY_4ZTfquSmw/s1600-h/m169250587.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 206px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFD6culhbol4qEwIcI-wTMxn6S1UUBCIz4SODCLTAqfuDFmFxJwpXCfkgBZQFQNM8ExwRjOjjnSov1igK6ierMkjzWcy7mvRBmva4Q3Nsq5eoMOg-RgZQubqNxGBtpbiIuY_4ZTfquSmw/s320/m169250587.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367008686707829474" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br>Did you ever stop to consider what it was like for me? Did you never consider that I might be telling the truth when I said that I loved you? Did you never think what it must have felt like to me?<br /><br />I mean, what would you think of a man whose only interest in you was to have sex with you? A guy who would never talk to you, never share anything with you, and who barely listened when you talked to him.<br /><br />Would you want to love him? Would you want to be used and abused by him? Would you want to share your life with him? Would you want to be used and abused for the rest of your life?<br /><br />I'm not a masochist. I don't enjoy the pain you caused me. I don't want to love you. I never wanted to love you. But I was never given the choice. You can't choose who you're going to fall in love with. If I could it certainly wouldn't be you.<br /><br />…<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I don't love you because of the chase. I love you despite it.</span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">I’ve been reading Alexandra, and I’ve fallen in love with it! It’s such a dirty book but the lines were just so beautifully written that I can feel the character’s pain and frustration all the down to the bottom of my soul. Haha.</span>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12635688254828590614noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711390994867003634.post-73767852794838298302009-06-30T06:11:00.001-07:002009-08-06T17:42:03.041-07:00A Break From All The Love Stuff.<br><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC0ItwOvlAE-w0XUBMoFt3DS0jI5f-rrey4IoMCpP7cOWJbOMP_ycjodSqEHXKRTD7FN9v_bDwKfssUIapiRzc6txgt8-KhCbLapYFrVyle8Z15JmdZDXgGtdZaQaiqv2O3MG3ve5l6Yo/s1600-h/eee.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC0ItwOvlAE-w0XUBMoFt3DS0jI5f-rrey4IoMCpP7cOWJbOMP_ycjodSqEHXKRTD7FN9v_bDwKfssUIapiRzc6txgt8-KhCbLapYFrVyle8Z15JmdZDXgGtdZaQaiqv2O3MG3ve5l6Yo/s320/eee.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367015512262722338" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br>Just when I thought I had all the luck in the world when it comes to graded recitations because I almost never get called, a stupid eraser ruins my fate.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">So there I am standing in front of the class with no memory whatsoever of anything that I've read about abnormal psychology, and cursing myself for taking up this course when I don't even know what a clinical psychologist does.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">My cheeks are burning, my palms are sweaty, my mouth is dry, and there's nothing I'd want more than to go back to my seat but time couldn't go any slower.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Thankfully, Glad shows me her hand outs and Nina and Chelsea are mouthing some of the answers.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I still find a way to mess up, though. I'm really no good under pressure. :p</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">But once it's over, it doesn't seem like much of a big deal.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">All I know is that I already live in dread of that class.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">And Latika. Is. So pretty. :)<br /><br /></span>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12635688254828590614noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711390994867003634.post-1647446738731070672009-06-28T04:58:00.000-07:002009-08-06T16:48:36.990-07:00Ultimate Crush.<BR><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGYUVQos81LDQoo-KGDmGjJWSub95uKZ4f9h59gb6mU55qxwh_Ui1H_TPXwAYz2fqfD6-aqJGOXHKVM-d-L2ys9RYk17j3pTubX23L1ekB5P8kxWjHkClTrPMwEHjjbsZVDJ6GA9L1Lbw/s1600-h/bbb.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 194px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGYUVQos81LDQoo-KGDmGjJWSub95uKZ4f9h59gb6mU55qxwh_Ui1H_TPXwAYz2fqfD6-aqJGOXHKVM-d-L2ys9RYk17j3pTubX23L1ekB5P8kxWjHkClTrPMwEHjjbsZVDJ6GA9L1Lbw/s200/bbb.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367001675788550258" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><BR>You come forward and time suddenly stands still. A sweet smile slowly crawls across your lips as you start talking and I feel like I've just become oblivious of everything but your presence and my heart throbbing.<br /><br />I am in awe of your breathtaking beauty that I can barely even register what you're saying so when it's my turn to talk, I mumble and trip over my words and end up feeling like a fool because of what I've just said. You simply laugh about this though, and I learn to love you more because of the delightful sound of your laugh. You say another thing or two, and I try my hardest to reply as casually as I can and hope that you don't notice how smitten I am by you.<br /><br />Moments later, we're just standing there awkwardly and gazing at each other with nothing left to say. You give out another smile and start to walk away. And I'm left there smiling and elated because you just made my day. :)<br /><br /></span>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12635688254828590614noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711390994867003634.post-59927586408601980792009-06-28T04:57:00.000-07:002009-08-06T16:50:46.605-07:00Sweet Emoshit.<BR><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoqas_QrQJtBWF_nuroyPh6Pv2Z9Jk4VuNpxEUU06Q4Tj8YxiIdc_b_X7HPPrbc70-KFq6qwRwRN9QLmYQReKsoffZJRc94Ab32do7Ww9EIhxOT1PwEj0CrAnYYbcFi_GWjFBdB-fYCxs/s1600-h/aaa.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 201px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoqas_QrQJtBWF_nuroyPh6Pv2Z9Jk4VuNpxEUU06Q4Tj8YxiIdc_b_X7HPPrbc70-KFq6qwRwRN9QLmYQReKsoffZJRc94Ab32do7Ww9EIhxOT1PwEj0CrAnYYbcFi_GWjFBdB-fYCxs/s320/aaa.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367002314924691282" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><BR>"Feb 26, 2009<br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The exact first month of going out. Talking. Loving.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Gave a warranted right to kiss her for the first time. Something I've been stopping myself from since the first day.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The kiss was perfect, but in its sweetest, it has proven one thing: That it's not just the "thrill of the chase." Because the kiss made me want her more. :) Made me wanna be beside her everytime. Made me like and love her like there's no other person worthy of me but her. :)</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">(It didn't, like the usual, make me feel successful that at last I got her kiss. It didn't, like the usual, make me feel good, but made me fly. It didn't, like the usual, make me feel that i'm done with her.)</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Again, it made me want her more, love her more, forevermore. :)"</p><br /><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">June 22, 2009</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">shobe:</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">rossann: ano yan?</p></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">shobe: papansing message. :p</p></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">rossann: haha. ang tamad mo namang magpapansin. blankong message lang. oist. 21 kanina. :)</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">shobe: naisip ko na yan! just didn't get a chance to tell you. 4months na dapat.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I have every reason to stay away from you, but there's just something about you that makes it so hard for me to resist.. Something that makes me want to love you through all the pain and doubts.. So I'm drawn to you, like a little child's finger to the tip of the flame. :)</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></p></span>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12635688254828590614noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711390994867003634.post-27991047161405277962009-06-28T04:49:00.001-07:002009-09-09T21:24:08.079-07:00Blah.<br><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbT7meEZTggr2PPRPeHaww_p_3txMQdX_RSLqkiRSIJtj3ZZTCQKoTKoxqqu0tIOhh1o0LqU0RGUECX4htIFjmKcmh3w47qTq4zVas6Bt7N6H6l5NqhQb-qncesDPTk8F4eAP9OPQNpmw/s1600-h/ccc.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 352px; height: 62px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbT7meEZTggr2PPRPeHaww_p_3txMQdX_RSLqkiRSIJtj3ZZTCQKoTKoxqqu0tIOhh1o0LqU0RGUECX4htIFjmKcmh3w47qTq4zVas6Bt7N6H6l5NqhQb-qncesDPTk8F4eAP9OPQNpmw/s400/ccc.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367021513078026594" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br>A murmur of voices distracts me so I turn my head to find out where it's coming from. I see you standing on a corner and talking to a friend with that curious expression on your face. For a second, I wonder what the conversation is about but i just shrug it off and go back to reading my book.<br /><br />Suddenly, I feel a peculiar urge to look your way once more. I give in to it and end up staring at you. You're on your own now, leaning against the wall and absorbed in your own thoughts. I notice that your forehead is furrowed, then I smile at the thought that it always is.<br /><br />Some memories come rushing back and I begin to feel a nagging emptiness crawling inside me. I try to dismiss this feeling immediately and convince myself that things are better off this way. But sometimes, I just can't help but wonder if you ever miss me like I miss you.<br /><br />Just as I'm about to look away, you catch me staring at you. You hesitate, then raise your eyebrows and say hi. I just wave back and smile, then turn away and sigh.<br /><br /></span>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12635688254828590614noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711390994867003634.post-69141118657725945622009-06-28T04:45:00.000-07:002009-09-09T21:24:28.407-07:00:)<br><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicwY6nsjZWCRFy-4mxQqaVMZdFXaPf1xPUNnvyArDPxmSEj2wpRj8ZfIsOCELohjwiho9AW8cPfcu0tEE_ZsAahiasqHAvft18cRrZbpucIv2aEZr00peDNEwNs_uQmpcomGppky1BOgo/s1600-h/aad.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 232px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicwY6nsjZWCRFy-4mxQqaVMZdFXaPf1xPUNnvyArDPxmSEj2wpRj8ZfIsOCELohjwiho9AW8cPfcu0tEE_ZsAahiasqHAvft18cRrZbpucIv2aEZr00peDNEwNs_uQmpcomGppky1BOgo/s320/aad.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367035982802330338" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br>I love you because you know your way through me and you understand me immediately.<br /><br />When i'm at my worst, you hold me and hug me. Comfort me and soothe me. Til my sorrow becomes your own, and i'm filled with a sense of relief in that voice that i've always known.<br /><br />You see the despair in my eyes and every suffering underneath my sighs. And even without much words spoken, you mend a soul that once was broken. :)<br /><br /></span>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12635688254828590614noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711390994867003634.post-29743580751270526342009-06-28T04:43:00.000-07:002009-09-09T21:27:35.895-07:00When Love Fails.<br><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIAjaHsi2Vv5L8pYea6F58xMukl0Pha4o5PkmzhuvL7ntmViv7PNDNgy802hON7KGWItCmTcedb0C3P0FBcn58FklbIYwHgkECoD8lSPb4IUmXmHSAWxrx2xc2V1MXcVSgbmzMfMfu_ck/s1600-h/HungHearts.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 138px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIAjaHsi2Vv5L8pYea6F58xMukl0Pha4o5PkmzhuvL7ntmViv7PNDNgy802hON7KGWItCmTcedb0C3P0FBcn58FklbIYwHgkECoD8lSPb4IUmXmHSAWxrx2xc2V1MXcVSgbmzMfMfu_ck/s200/HungHearts.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367036648127742658" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br><br /><center>When love fails, <br />There's always one heart that's left bleeding;<br />One heart that's left hoping;<br />One heart that's left hurting.<br />It's the heart of someone who didn't see the circumstances coming.<br />It's the heart of someone who refuses to let go<br />Even when there's nothing to hold on to.<br />It's a hopeful heart that <br />Should have grown weary and defeated long ago,<br />But doesn't stop beating..<br />Wishing that someday,<br />The love that it holds would be enough<br />For both hearts to keep going.</center><br /></span>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12635688254828590614noreply@blogger.com2