RBY

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Someone hiding under your bed .
Someone whose name is Iman .
Someone who loves Charmaine.
Someone who adores desserts .
Someone who loves lovely pictures .
Someone who doesn't like to wake early .
Someone who is a ninja .
Someone who is outgoing .
Someone who has many friends .
Someone who hopes for a better world .
Someone who is a lazy pig .
Someone who likes insects .
Someone who is a cat lover .
Someone who likes to stay awake past midnight .
Someone who has a number of creative braincells .
Someone who is optimistic and mysterious .
Someone who collects movie tickets as a hobby.

Someone who wants you to read his blog . :)

Monday, March 30, 2009 @ 7:27:00 PM

Lurve-ed

Guns: Because somedays you just want to end it with style

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What is love? More importantly, why? Why do we love someone? What is the purpose of love? Why do we waste hours upon hours of time just to talk to somebody that's ''special''? Why do females ignore their lactose intolerance and accept their chocolatey gifts during Valentine's Day like it's the most creative gift that's ever been given to them? Why do we guys spend a shitload of money to book a seat at some high-end restaurant so that we can stare at our love's eyes, completely ignoring the fact that 20+ other couples are doing the exact same thing?

Love is a many spendored thing, and it's confusing as hell.

And yet, we are attracted to it, aren't we? I'm not in love, I'm in like. And it's weird, to see this affection. It's weird that, when you fail something, even though the entire class is supporting you, it only takes one person to lift your spirits? That one special person in your life who will be your ''forever''

Sometimes I walk alone and I see these lovebirdstheymakemesickholding hand-in-hand, having a nice walk with their bf/gf. And I wonder to myself, what's it like to have a girlfriend? What's it like to feel that sense of ''completeness'' and unity?

I seriously have no idea. No one does.

I think I like it that way, to never know. But it kills me inside slowly, festering and gnawing at my self-worth like a cancerous tumour, and I HATE IT.

To be, or not to be, that is the question.

-Shakespeare-

;as the story unfolds .

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