Unwritten

She’s wondering why and what happened to those days when everything was perfect. Or was there ever perfection? It seems as if perfection is lacking imperfection and it seems that if everything went as she wished, it just wouldn’t be as memorable anymore. But sometimes, she just wished that god could stop playing with her. She meant, really, really stop.

She saw the first raindrop fall against her windowpane, and stared at it until it joined and separated and then rejoined with the other droplets. In other times, when she had ‘better’ stuff to do, this would not be an event that’s practiced. But she couldn’t get her mind off, well, whatever she was thinking about. She wished that she could open the window and let the rain in, more, she needed to let the thunderstorm inside her out. The love songs that were playing on the radio only made things worse, and more suppressed. Her heart was doing flips and twists and turns and after all, it would tighten itself until she found it hard to breath. And she’s still singing that same love song when she was just so sick of it. All those lies, she thought to herself, all lies. It seems so contradictory that she could be in two places at once, and her room was not one of them. What’s in this room was just a structure, her soul was inside her, her heart was far, far away, too far to go and want it back. She don’t believe it, she really don’t. I’ll live perfectly fine without love or guys, that’s what she said a year ago, and now, now she’s just too ashamed to admit how much she has changed. A dark-grey, ominous thundercloud passed her rooftop and she saw it through her window, it blocked out all the sun. Her room was pitching black; she enjoyed the darkness while being scared of it.

She went over to her bookshelf, and turned on the lamp. The room grew brighter, a cozy shade that she found comfort in when she was feeling down. She took out her little writing book, filled with mindless doodles and sometimes little notes at the margin, but what’s important was at the center of it. The center. She wanted to close the book and forget about it all, she turned the radio off. Looking at this needs some better background music, she thought ironically. She pushed open the CD compartment of her stereo, and inserted one of her all time favourite. Her taste in music sure changed after what? The only way she can describe it was falling into a deep black hole helplessly and not knowing it while thinking you’ll be happy when you hit the bottom. And what is the bottom? Sometimes just dirt, no, actually most of the time. Sometimes it’s just hard bottom when you expect a special ‘someone’ to catch you when you fall. The tune started to play, she was in another world for a second as she remembered how she reacted when she heard it for the first time and how she cried with it the second time. She just couldn’t relate to a better song, she guessed. She felt as if her own tears would come soon but she willed it away, because she knew if she started right now she would never be able to sort this out and stop. She would just cry and cry and cry until she felt like screaming. She really did feel like screaming ‘why is this over?’ at the top of her lungs and break down and have a fit, but maybe that could be saved for later. Odd how human beings find a time on their schedule to have a fit and think about stuff until it pains to think. It’s like they know it’s inevitable, so they work around their time and face it when they’re ready. Her heart did another flip, twist and tightened once more. Images flashed in her head, pictures, memories, it’s like she was never gone and now she’s just coming back for a visit. She glanced at the calendar, July the seventeenth already, she should’ve said ‘happy birthday’ to him today but she just knew too well to do something like that. Everything she does or says for that matter or even stuff she said to her friends made him feel as if she was pressuring him into liking her when it wasn’t even true. And that’s one of the mysteries she didn’t figure out yet, sometimes he just sounds so nice and other times, well, he ignores her to the point that it hurts. It’s not like she expected anything perfectly romantic, she just wanted him to remember her. And for herself, she’ll just remember him and how he said she was kind of pretty over MSN. Talk about life. Talk about love even.

She flipped the book open, it was a notebook she had long ago, but by the amount that she wrote, 250 pages could be gone in 2 months and you have to know, she’s just a teenager, not a writer. The margin of her notebook was full of little shaded hearts and on some pages, skulls and crosses with snakes intertwined on them on days when she’s feeling black. She skipped the first poem; it sounded so insufficient comparing to her writing skills now, so she turned the page. It was a short lyric by Akon: ‘nobody wanna see us together, but it don’t matter, no, cuz I got you’. How sweet, she thought, sometimes she would picture him saying this to her but you know, it’s just the wild imagination of a girl that haven’t went through her first love yet. She knew it would never come true because he didn’t want it to for some unknown reason. But just because imaginations can’t be true doesn’t mean all human beings stopped hoping. And hope is sometimes what crushed us at the end and not pain. Pain, she thought, she didn’t know if she should relate it with love. You can stuck pain down someone’s throat and force them to take it but you couldn’t do that with love. It just can’t be forced. And she knew it. Below the lyric was a poem (finally).

I just knew that we gotta be together,
And I gotta be with you,
It’s so true,
That I don’t know what to do.

They said …

Honestly, she really didn’t care about what they said now, and she didn’t need to read the rest of it to figure that she had the same opinion before. So she moved on.

I wonder why I can’t get over you,
And why I would always come back to the pain,
And linger in the rain,
Thinking you would come and say there’s no one to blame.

We seemed to be too strong for too long,
Pretending that we didn’t need each other,
While I stayed up all night,
Thinking about the definition of forever.

I sometimes just can’t help myself,
To stop myself and not cry,
In spite of all the cruel truth,
That I can never alter even if I try.

She held the book away for a moment and examined it, sighing. She sounded too cute to be true then, she sounded like an angel that didn’t know how dangerous god is and how playful Cupid could be. Her friends all had crushes before but it seems that she went really close to the line of falling in love. And that’s why she doubt that their poems would be as half as good as hers, she thought with vanity and pushed it away. On the next page was a quote she wrote:’ you don’t need to know what love is, you don’t need to win at every game, you just need to break it (which was slang language) once and have it all’. She did a half smile, she always believed that and it surprised her to see it herself. Yah, she doesn’t need to win all the time, there’s only one love of her life or how do you describe it? She just guessed if that was not the case, everything would be so unromantic and she hated that. Below the quote was a little angel (which was badly drawn) drawing an arrow and hitting a heart. She didn’t know why the angel wasn’t called Cupid, but well, Cupid can shoot arrows at anyone, this little angel can’t. Why? Well, she found it hard admitting it; she used to pretend that little flying angle to be the messenger of ‘someone’, so it seemed more special. A grin broke out on her face, awww, how cute. She felt better until... a picture slipped through the book onto the floor and her breath was taken away as she stared into his eyes. She was lost for a moment, then her legs felt weak, those eyes seem to go right through her, as if she wasn’t there. It hurts. She didn’t think she was ready for that, she almost felt as if she went back to when she was with him again. Those eyes, it’s like oh my god. She flipped the picture over, only to find that there was another one glued on the back of it. Jesus, she thought, get out of my head. But she took a look and felt a faint blush crept up on her cheek, that picture was taken secretly. It was so hot on that day, the sky looked as if it was ready to rain and the whole class was on a school trip. On the way back to school, it poured and everyone was soaking wet, him too and that’s when her friend took a picture. It was later sent to her, she was surprised to see how good it turned out, just those eyes, oh my god. And her friend left a little note below it:’ by the way, he have really nice hands too’. She smiled again and wondered why he wasn’t hers. Just the reason why.

She continued to flip the pages, more notes, more love stuff, she was amazed at how much love poems she wrote, she counted them and it turned out to be at least 30. Her interest got a little stale but she continued on. And here’s when something hits her.

There was a page missing. It looked as if it was ripped out. She wondered why, she was always the type that kept everything from yesterday to the year before. She pondered...



She was in a pretty good mood that day, she felt she needed some inspiration and was mentally ready for it. She always felt great when she sensed that little connection with him. She sat near her desk, finding words to describe it and then she got it. She felt it. It was like something that just hits her on the head, as random as that may seem. Then the radio played a song she just felt she needed to record. She picked up her pen and rocked it along with the song. Her pen was scribbling on her notebook, at the time she didn’t know that the page would be later thrown out when she was not in the mood anymore.

It was something like this:

No one else can feel it for you,
Only you can let it in,
No one else no one else,
Can speak the words on your lips,
Drench yourself in words unspoken,
Live your life with arms wide open,
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten…….

She did feel inspired for a reason that she personally couldn’t tell but she was inspired all the same. She opened her window, a ray of bright sunlight shined through the cloud right onto her windowpane. A ray of sunlight so strong that it made the electric lamp seems insufficient and weak. A light that seemed to get rid of the momentary darkness. She opened the window farther more, and more light came till the whole room was bathed in its golden rays. She wondered why she never opened it up before. She sat in the same spot she sat later on July the seventeenth, but with a totally different mood. The song stopped but her mind was still playing it.

Drench yourself in words unspoken,
Live your life with arms wide open,
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten…….