Here I am, sitting patiently as the driver of the jeepney speeds this clunky, old vehicle forward, beating red lights and shit. But hell's not over, yesterday was hot and I had to sleep naked on the cold room, and now might as well take a long shower later when I get home.
"Stop thinking about him." This thought kept ringing in my head.
I. Just. Can't.
I fuckin' love him. How am I supposed to oppose these feelings that I've felt for him? How in this universe am I going to move on when he's so near, yet so far?
He's a perfect man. A perfectly imperfect man. And me? I'm way different from what he is. I'm on two sides of the spectrum. I'm simply too plain sometimes but mostly ugly. And I can't love a fine art such as he, because I'm the painter who fixes him whenever he messes it up, and sadly, I can only admire him by looking directly at him, I can't touch nor kiss a fine art such as he.