6/10/01
Anticipation
Lelu
Leluh16@yahoo.com
PG
[Insert Standard Disclaimer]
--
I stand, shadowed by the darkness of a tree, walking
at a safe distance behind her. I am watching her walk,
her hips swaying from side to side like a young
seductress without meaning to seduce. I find my eyes
drawn to her in a way that could be considered pure
love or pure lust. However, I'm leaning a little more
towards the first idea, because for these past few
months, I've found myself watching her, every move
that she makes, and every little thing that she says.
Not just her body. Her.
You might consider me a stalker, and I guess, in
some way, I am. I can't help it that I'm drawn to her,
that I'm drawn to every little part of her that makes
up the greater whole, which is, thank you very much,
Tsukino Usagi. You see, she is the girl of my dreams,
the girl of my life, the girl of my heart. And every
time I see her, I can't help but feel anticipation, an
excitement, if you will, of some sort. Even though we
may not know each other well enough now, I can't
help but feel that our futures will be intertwined
somehow. Like that ribbon in her hair that is twirling
in and out of her golden strands.
I know that it's stupid to think that this beautiful sun-
child would ever want me or would ever want to be
with me. But it's not stupid to have hope in dreams
that you dream, or to have hope in fantasies (innocent
ones, let me assure you) about the woman that you
love.
Love. Even my head spins at the thought of it. What
do I, Chiba Mamoru, the orphan boy, know of love?
All the love I would have ever known, besides those
giddy schoolgirls throwing themselves at my feet and
declaring their 'love', would have been from my
parents. Unfortunately for me, I can't even remember
my parents. Damn my amnesia. I wish I could
remember how love felt like—rather, I wish I could
remember how it felt to be loved. It's probably a
wonderful feeling, I imagine, if the whole world,
even the universe in a stretch, wants to be loved. And
I, at one time, scoffed at the entire notion of love, but
with a just reason as well. No one in the world loved
me, and I loved no one. What good, what benefit,
would such trifling emotions such as love have for
me?
Before I met Usagi, I thought that there was no
benefit, and really, I did have a reason to think that. I
justified my tormented past with the need for never
needing love—a weird idea of mine, but in a way, it
made sense. At times, I still think it does.
After I met Usagi, I knew that I needed to be loved. I
needed to be loved by her and, to be more specific,
her alone. The rest of the world, I didn't care about. I
needed to know that she approved of me, and that
somehow, she could love me.
Simply put, her love is the most important emotion I
desire in the world.
Unfortunately, the one I want to be loved by just so
happens to hate me. Well, dislikes, rather, to a certain
point. A very far point from like. More closer to
disgust than anything else. And really, I can't blame
her for not liking me; I, even, dislike myself when I
have to put up that stupid image of the upperclassman
who could care less for the 'little klutz.' The things I
say to her are low and despicable—if anyone had
ever said anything to me that was remotely close to
what insults I throw at her, I know that I'd hate them.
Which is why I don't fault her for disliking me as
much as she does.
It's really ironic, and I suppose amusing as well. The
fact that I love this girl to the point of desperation,
yet she wants nothing to do with me. At least, that's
what it seems like to the rest of the free world—or to
anyone who witnesses one of our infamously famous
fights. I think that even her friends may be deceived
by the parts we play because we play them so damn
well.
My feet come to a halt as she stops walking, her head
tilted, eyes gazing into a window of a store; her eyes
are always seeing, always staring. Sometimes I'll
even catch her staring at me. Her large blue eyes
innocently wide, clear, and unfazed, trying to catch a
glimpse of the real me.
I'm not stupid, no matter what you may think. I know
that she knows that there's something more to me
than whatever personality or attitude I reflect on the
surface. She is very smart, I can give her that. Well, I
could really go on about the hidden traits about her
that I can see and no one else can, but that's a
different point entirely. Back to her intelligence. Her
schoolwork may not reflect her inner brightness, and
even she may not realize it at times, but I know. I
know that she is much smarter than she appears to be.
I even wonder if maybe she could be like me, in the
way that we have inner people tucked away inside of
ourselves. Maybe we shelter ourselves so we
wouldn't be hurt—I don't want to admit it, but I
know that that's exactly what I do. And many people
know it. I push people away because I don't want to
be with them. I don't want to get hurt again. The pain
of losing people who were supposedly close to you
would just be too much for me.
I am weak.
Inside, I am weak, and I know it. No matter how
suave or sophisticated I may seem to be, it all centers
around my actions and how I want people to perceive
them as; I am afraid as well of greater things that
have yet to be played out in my life. But this
weakness of mine will never go away. No matter
what happens to me, if she ever does love me. I will
always be weak inside, and I hate myself for it.
And I know why this weakness won't ever go away.
Because of my past, my childhood, my demented
way of thinking. I will always be afraid that people
will leave me, no matter how much they say they
may love me. And because of the fear, it makes me
weak in a way that I will never be strong. I will
always always be afraid. And there's not one damn
thing I can do about it.
But Usagi…
I watch as she begins to walk again, and my feet
begin to follow her, a shadow that she does not know
about.
Usagi is strong inside, even though people may view
her as a weak person. I have seen her be strong in
numerous occasions, even though other people may
not see it. I think that It's my love for her that allows
me to see through her and into her, seeing things that
other people—who may love her, but not in the way I
do—can't. And it's because of my love for her that I
love her even more.
Love causes more love, perhaps.
But even though I want to keep this observation of
mine a secret, at the same time, I don't. I find it
amusing that what Usagi and I seem to be is really
the opposite of our true selves. I am weak but seem
strong; she is strong but may seem weak. I almost
want to laugh because of the idiocy of these people
who have characterized her and myself into what we
seem to be. I suppose that their view has been
clouded by something—most likely, by stereotypes
of what Usagi and I portray ourselves to be. But no
matter. I know what I am, and I know what she is.
Her eyes are something amazing as well. Large,
luminescent, unveiled. She sees the world through
child-like eyes, but her eyes are deceiving—she has a
wisdom unlike any other person I have ever known
before. She can see things that other can't, but I can
see what she sees, no matter how much it may pain
me to admit it. She is always on a constant search,
trying to find me real me that has been hidden away
and locked up for so long. No one else has ever
bothered seeing past my exterior self or through my
honey-coated sarcasm. But her… She would. Only
she would. And during the times that I catch her
staring at me, I have to wonder why she bothers to try
figure out me, when I can't even figure out myself
sometimes. I give her much credit to doing what she
is. And it's because she's trying to get to the root of
me, the core of my entire being, I love her even more.
I love her more than a person should be allowed to
love—meaning that sometimes, I am afraid of the
intensity of love I feel for her. I even wonder if I
should be allowed to exist while holding so much
love inside of me that has never found its way to the
surface. Yet.
Yet…
I use that word, that simple three-lettered word, very
loosely. So loose that you could fit the largest animal
in the world through that loop. I want to tell her how
I feel, honestly I do. I can't keep that one demand
hidden from myself. But I won't tell her, not until
I'm ready. Which will be, mostly likely, never. My
love…she doesn't need to know about it. She already
has the love of many, what good would the love of a
lonely older boy be? I think she would be too
frightened to know what she wanted to do with me,
with my love. She wouldn't believe me, either, if I
ever did tell her. Afterall, how odd and awkward
would it be if someone you thought was your worst
enemy declared their undying, never-ending love for
you? Very odd and awkward. I know that any chance
I had with her was long gone before I even met her or
spoke to her. But still, I hope. I hope for a day when I
will be able to tell her, and she will be able to
understand and to accept me. And to accept exactly
all the feelings that I have for her.
I am walking around aimlessly, I finally notice, and
yet, through my spaced-out mind, I have kept a
perfect gaze on Usagi; it's almost as if my
subconscious knows exactly what I want so it sets
itself to follow her, no matter where I am.
Stalker…
Maybe. Maybe I am. But still… there's something so
pure about the way I feel—the way I _love_--that
makes this right.
Mamoru…
To protect. But to protect whom?
Usagi, of course.
But from what?
Myself, perhaps… to protect her from myself…
What a horrible fate, if this is what I am to do. I know
I wouldn't be strong enough to do it—it would be yet
another weakness that I would never be able to
strengthen.
I stop walking suddenly and stand still in the streets,
a wind blowing past my body and ruffling my hair.
Someone is watching me; I can feel it. Slowly, I turn
around, and there she is (how on earth did she end up
behind me?), head tilted, golden strands of hair
catching the sun; eyes searching and searching,
running up and down my body in an innocent and
pure fashion, but making me burn inside.
I watch her as she watches me, and we begin to walk
again. But for once, we don't stop to spar with each
other, a blessing and a curse in itself. A blessing
because then I won't have to insult her and say the
stupidest things that come to mind. A curse because I
love the color her eyes become when they light up
with a beautiful spark when arguing; her voice is so
sweet, even when she's yelling insults at me.
Our eyes have made contact and we keep it, our
gazes locked. She walks by me and I walk by her, not
speaking. Her sleeve brushes mine.
I shiver.
Anticipation of an event yet to come.
--
Anticipation
Lelu
Leluh16@yahoo.com
PG
[Insert Standard Disclaimer]
--
I stand, shadowed by the darkness of a tree, walking
at a safe distance behind her. I am watching her walk,
her hips swaying from side to side like a young
seductress without meaning to seduce. I find my eyes
drawn to her in a way that could be considered pure
love or pure lust. However, I'm leaning a little more
towards the first idea, because for these past few
months, I've found myself watching her, every move
that she makes, and every little thing that she says.
Not just her body. Her.
You might consider me a stalker, and I guess, in
some way, I am. I can't help it that I'm drawn to her,
that I'm drawn to every little part of her that makes
up the greater whole, which is, thank you very much,
Tsukino Usagi. You see, she is the girl of my dreams,
the girl of my life, the girl of my heart. And every
time I see her, I can't help but feel anticipation, an
excitement, if you will, of some sort. Even though we
may not know each other well enough now, I can't
help but feel that our futures will be intertwined
somehow. Like that ribbon in her hair that is twirling
in and out of her golden strands.
I know that it's stupid to think that this beautiful sun-
child would ever want me or would ever want to be
with me. But it's not stupid to have hope in dreams
that you dream, or to have hope in fantasies (innocent
ones, let me assure you) about the woman that you
love.
Love. Even my head spins at the thought of it. What
do I, Chiba Mamoru, the orphan boy, know of love?
All the love I would have ever known, besides those
giddy schoolgirls throwing themselves at my feet and
declaring their 'love', would have been from my
parents. Unfortunately for me, I can't even remember
my parents. Damn my amnesia. I wish I could
remember how love felt like—rather, I wish I could
remember how it felt to be loved. It's probably a
wonderful feeling, I imagine, if the whole world,
even the universe in a stretch, wants to be loved. And
I, at one time, scoffed at the entire notion of love, but
with a just reason as well. No one in the world loved
me, and I loved no one. What good, what benefit,
would such trifling emotions such as love have for
me?
Before I met Usagi, I thought that there was no
benefit, and really, I did have a reason to think that. I
justified my tormented past with the need for never
needing love—a weird idea of mine, but in a way, it
made sense. At times, I still think it does.
After I met Usagi, I knew that I needed to be loved. I
needed to be loved by her and, to be more specific,
her alone. The rest of the world, I didn't care about. I
needed to know that she approved of me, and that
somehow, she could love me.
Simply put, her love is the most important emotion I
desire in the world.
Unfortunately, the one I want to be loved by just so
happens to hate me. Well, dislikes, rather, to a certain
point. A very far point from like. More closer to
disgust than anything else. And really, I can't blame
her for not liking me; I, even, dislike myself when I
have to put up that stupid image of the upperclassman
who could care less for the 'little klutz.' The things I
say to her are low and despicable—if anyone had
ever said anything to me that was remotely close to
what insults I throw at her, I know that I'd hate them.
Which is why I don't fault her for disliking me as
much as she does.
It's really ironic, and I suppose amusing as well. The
fact that I love this girl to the point of desperation,
yet she wants nothing to do with me. At least, that's
what it seems like to the rest of the free world—or to
anyone who witnesses one of our infamously famous
fights. I think that even her friends may be deceived
by the parts we play because we play them so damn
well.
My feet come to a halt as she stops walking, her head
tilted, eyes gazing into a window of a store; her eyes
are always seeing, always staring. Sometimes I'll
even catch her staring at me. Her large blue eyes
innocently wide, clear, and unfazed, trying to catch a
glimpse of the real me.
I'm not stupid, no matter what you may think. I know
that she knows that there's something more to me
than whatever personality or attitude I reflect on the
surface. She is very smart, I can give her that. Well, I
could really go on about the hidden traits about her
that I can see and no one else can, but that's a
different point entirely. Back to her intelligence. Her
schoolwork may not reflect her inner brightness, and
even she may not realize it at times, but I know. I
know that she is much smarter than she appears to be.
I even wonder if maybe she could be like me, in the
way that we have inner people tucked away inside of
ourselves. Maybe we shelter ourselves so we
wouldn't be hurt—I don't want to admit it, but I
know that that's exactly what I do. And many people
know it. I push people away because I don't want to
be with them. I don't want to get hurt again. The pain
of losing people who were supposedly close to you
would just be too much for me.
I am weak.
Inside, I am weak, and I know it. No matter how
suave or sophisticated I may seem to be, it all centers
around my actions and how I want people to perceive
them as; I am afraid as well of greater things that
have yet to be played out in my life. But this
weakness of mine will never go away. No matter
what happens to me, if she ever does love me. I will
always be weak inside, and I hate myself for it.
And I know why this weakness won't ever go away.
Because of my past, my childhood, my demented
way of thinking. I will always be afraid that people
will leave me, no matter how much they say they
may love me. And because of the fear, it makes me
weak in a way that I will never be strong. I will
always always be afraid. And there's not one damn
thing I can do about it.
But Usagi…
I watch as she begins to walk again, and my feet
begin to follow her, a shadow that she does not know
about.
Usagi is strong inside, even though people may view
her as a weak person. I have seen her be strong in
numerous occasions, even though other people may
not see it. I think that It's my love for her that allows
me to see through her and into her, seeing things that
other people—who may love her, but not in the way I
do—can't. And it's because of my love for her that I
love her even more.
Love causes more love, perhaps.
But even though I want to keep this observation of
mine a secret, at the same time, I don't. I find it
amusing that what Usagi and I seem to be is really
the opposite of our true selves. I am weak but seem
strong; she is strong but may seem weak. I almost
want to laugh because of the idiocy of these people
who have characterized her and myself into what we
seem to be. I suppose that their view has been
clouded by something—most likely, by stereotypes
of what Usagi and I portray ourselves to be. But no
matter. I know what I am, and I know what she is.
Her eyes are something amazing as well. Large,
luminescent, unveiled. She sees the world through
child-like eyes, but her eyes are deceiving—she has a
wisdom unlike any other person I have ever known
before. She can see things that other can't, but I can
see what she sees, no matter how much it may pain
me to admit it. She is always on a constant search,
trying to find me real me that has been hidden away
and locked up for so long. No one else has ever
bothered seeing past my exterior self or through my
honey-coated sarcasm. But her… She would. Only
she would. And during the times that I catch her
staring at me, I have to wonder why she bothers to try
figure out me, when I can't even figure out myself
sometimes. I give her much credit to doing what she
is. And it's because she's trying to get to the root of
me, the core of my entire being, I love her even more.
I love her more than a person should be allowed to
love—meaning that sometimes, I am afraid of the
intensity of love I feel for her. I even wonder if I
should be allowed to exist while holding so much
love inside of me that has never found its way to the
surface. Yet.
Yet…
I use that word, that simple three-lettered word, very
loosely. So loose that you could fit the largest animal
in the world through that loop. I want to tell her how
I feel, honestly I do. I can't keep that one demand
hidden from myself. But I won't tell her, not until
I'm ready. Which will be, mostly likely, never. My
love…she doesn't need to know about it. She already
has the love of many, what good would the love of a
lonely older boy be? I think she would be too
frightened to know what she wanted to do with me,
with my love. She wouldn't believe me, either, if I
ever did tell her. Afterall, how odd and awkward
would it be if someone you thought was your worst
enemy declared their undying, never-ending love for
you? Very odd and awkward. I know that any chance
I had with her was long gone before I even met her or
spoke to her. But still, I hope. I hope for a day when I
will be able to tell her, and she will be able to
understand and to accept me. And to accept exactly
all the feelings that I have for her.
I am walking around aimlessly, I finally notice, and
yet, through my spaced-out mind, I have kept a
perfect gaze on Usagi; it's almost as if my
subconscious knows exactly what I want so it sets
itself to follow her, no matter where I am.
Stalker…
Maybe. Maybe I am. But still… there's something so
pure about the way I feel—the way I _love_--that
makes this right.
Mamoru…
To protect. But to protect whom?
Usagi, of course.
But from what?
Myself, perhaps… to protect her from myself…
What a horrible fate, if this is what I am to do. I know
I wouldn't be strong enough to do it—it would be yet
another weakness that I would never be able to
strengthen.
I stop walking suddenly and stand still in the streets,
a wind blowing past my body and ruffling my hair.
Someone is watching me; I can feel it. Slowly, I turn
around, and there she is (how on earth did she end up
behind me?), head tilted, golden strands of hair
catching the sun; eyes searching and searching,
running up and down my body in an innocent and
pure fashion, but making me burn inside.
I watch her as she watches me, and we begin to walk
again. But for once, we don't stop to spar with each
other, a blessing and a curse in itself. A blessing
because then I won't have to insult her and say the
stupidest things that come to mind. A curse because I
love the color her eyes become when they light up
with a beautiful spark when arguing; her voice is so
sweet, even when she's yelling insults at me.
Our eyes have made contact and we keep it, our
gazes locked. She walks by me and I walk by her, not
speaking. Her sleeve brushes mine.
I shiver.
Anticipation of an event yet to come.
--