He was perhaps the most complicated individual I had ever met. It was impossible to talk to him and not be entranced by his ways of talking and speaking. There was no doubt he was smart but why he felt he had to hide that, I could never figure out.
Normally figuring people out and understanding them is something that comes naturally for me. It’s easy because with most people, their emotions are plastered on their faces, with their hearts on their sleeves and they don’t even know. What was obvious was that he had been hurt and he admitted he had been tainted by love. But could a boy of sixteen understand the first thing about love when men much older know not a single thing?
I’m not sure what makes him so captivating. Maybe it’s his mysterious, alluring angry side that just bursts to flames whenever he gets any fuel. Or perhaps it’s his demure, sweet side that rarely makes an appearance. He’s different. Perhaps that’s cliché? Perhaps I’m just obsessed with the idea of wanting to understand him?
The irony is that he called me complicated. And he meant it to be a compliment. He can’t read me like an open book. Does he think of me as much whilst trying to figure me out like he says he is trying to? Why does he want to? Does he like the idea of me being a challenge? Because there’s no doubt that he likes challenges.
He’s a puzzle. He speaks in riddles. It’s spellbinding. His perpetual mood-swings are so fascinating. His ideas of life and his conscience that he desperately tries to ignore. The feelings he suppresses. The fact he hides when he cares. Does he care? It’s enigmatic. I can’t for the life of me think why I can remember everything he’s said to me. And I can’t imagine why he can remember either.
It’s hard to be oblivious when you are perceptive. It’s a conundrum. A complete and utter mystery. I hate not understanding something. At times he’s everything that I’m against. Other times he’s everything that I believe to be good. It’s a paradox. It doesn’t make sense.
Do we even have a relationship? Are we friends? What are we? When we talk why is there some sort of electricity in the air? A charge? Or am I the only one who feels it? To be thinking about this so much is illogical. It really doesn’t make sense at all.
But I’ve said that already.
I don’t understand...Every time I’m close to finding out something, he runs away and he hides. His inner child who didn’t get the childhood it needed is hurting somewhere deep inside. Does he need nurturing? Does he need something else? Why do I care? This is completely absurd.
I don’t know him that well, nor does he know me well enough to want to care. But does he? And why do I have a feeling that I’m beginning to?
Am I falling? Has he already fallen? Why does he hide so much? Is he afraid of being judged? But if he is, why does he project the image of being the absolutely epitome of rudeness? He ignores me. Then he talks to me. It makes my head spin. What do I do?
Normally figuring people out and understanding them is something that comes naturally for me. It’s easy because with most people, their emotions are plastered on their faces, with their hearts on their sleeves and they don’t even know. What was obvious was that he had been hurt and he admitted he had been tainted by love. But could a boy of sixteen understand the first thing about love when men much older know not a single thing?
I’m not sure what makes him so captivating. Maybe it’s his mysterious, alluring angry side that just bursts to flames whenever he gets any fuel. Or perhaps it’s his demure, sweet side that rarely makes an appearance. He’s different. Perhaps that’s cliché? Perhaps I’m just obsessed with the idea of wanting to understand him?
The irony is that he called me complicated. And he meant it to be a compliment. He can’t read me like an open book. Does he think of me as much whilst trying to figure me out like he says he is trying to? Why does he want to? Does he like the idea of me being a challenge? Because there’s no doubt that he likes challenges.
He’s a puzzle. He speaks in riddles. It’s spellbinding. His perpetual mood-swings are so fascinating. His ideas of life and his conscience that he desperately tries to ignore. The feelings he suppresses. The fact he hides when he cares. Does he care? It’s enigmatic. I can’t for the life of me think why I can remember everything he’s said to me. And I can’t imagine why he can remember either.
It’s hard to be oblivious when you are perceptive. It’s a conundrum. A complete and utter mystery. I hate not understanding something. At times he’s everything that I’m against. Other times he’s everything that I believe to be good. It’s a paradox. It doesn’t make sense.
Do we even have a relationship? Are we friends? What are we? When we talk why is there some sort of electricity in the air? A charge? Or am I the only one who feels it? To be thinking about this so much is illogical. It really doesn’t make sense at all.
But I’ve said that already.
I don’t understand...Every time I’m close to finding out something, he runs away and he hides. His inner child who didn’t get the childhood it needed is hurting somewhere deep inside. Does he need nurturing? Does he need something else? Why do I care? This is completely absurd.
I don’t know him that well, nor does he know me well enough to want to care. But does he? And why do I have a feeling that I’m beginning to?
Am I falling? Has he already fallen? Why does he hide so much? Is he afraid of being judged? But if he is, why does he project the image of being the absolutely epitome of rudeness? He ignores me. Then he talks to me. It makes my head spin. What do I do?
Fakesmile
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