Pour l'homme qui m'inspire [maintenant]

There is luxury in a look/ Each stare satisfies the shortness/ of a wink while wondering what if/ We were? 

Note to self: Stop falling until (things fall apart, the center cannot hold). Hey, no one's gonna catch you. One way or another, you need to stop feeling lucky whenever you see that guy. Seriously, since when has it been "so lucky" bumping into someone who doesn't even say "hi" or gesture a smile to reciprocate your full of vibes beam? You couldn't be waving like you've just won that prestigious Ms. Milky Way award in front of that someone because there's no way he'd get his right hand out of his pocket to wave back. You couldn't be staring at him, admiring perfection. Admit it: You are not his SCRA. Until you are penned by a Justice and finally find your volume and page numbers to fit on that book, you'll never get his attention. Sooner or later, you'll forget (about him long enough, to forget why you needed to).

Once upon a time, I posted on SF as "Wondering Woman" (Wondering Woman, because it was addressed to someone like "Superman" but I felt like I didn't deserve to be Wonder Woman, so I added an -ing). There are days when I feel like a highschool student, it was one of those days (today, the day of posting this blog, is also one of those days).

Superman: I hope we'll be friends one day. Friends, like enjoying cups of coffee, like sharing a table in the lib, like chitchatting while waiting to be served at Blessings or in the caf, like having dinners, like exchanging smiles, like you'd be teaching me how "to study without any sign of panic or rush", like we'd just be laughing over this post one day, like I'd be playing the role of your Valentine. Unlike now.