Loved by me
You'll never know if you are loved by me
As pretty as your face is
I'd never round the bases
From a distance home is easier to see
I'd be fine
If I could find the nerve to say my line
Too bad I lack the fervor
'Cause maybe I could swerve her
Off her beaten path and onto mine
To publish my obsession
Of love without confession
Would be to share the spotlight with chagrin
I'd rather just admire
Fanning my own fire
And when it dies I'd live to love again
What to do
I've only started and already though
You may not ever meet me
Surely won't defeat me
I'll never know if I am loved by you
Seems I'm just too yellow to pursue
Guess I'll never know if I am loved by you
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Sunday, April 06, 2008
Detachment from attachment
'What do you all think of me?'
I ask a close friend, 3 years too late.
'You live in a world of your own,'
Echoing my very own recent pensive introspection verbatim. Lately I've only brushed the surface of the disturbing parallel world of interpersonal relationships, through second hand knowledge of course. I have a no-secrets pact with 6 of my friends. Obviously the few stories I have to share are juiceless and bland, but the ones I hear, while I belly-laugh equally hard as everyone else, make me feel a poignant tang every time. I walk in on the unspeakable acts committed by the last friends I would guess to engage in such shenanigans. Again, I laugh but the laughter hides a part of me inside that dies. It might be mere curiosity tickling me, which I am perfectly fine with, but I doubt that.
I catch myself searching the stoic tome of wikipedia for those two words (interpersonal attraction) in some desperate but inevitably fruitless attempt to find a magic code to elucidate this thickly-veiled world. The phrase that resonates in my skull is taken, quite inappropriately, from the tagline for the 40 Year Old Virgin. 'The longer you wait, the harder it gets.' Such a serious matter (for the moment), and I can only remember a line from a lewd comedy. Charming.
I'm quite comfortable in this world of my own. Inertia is an insufferable force. Hormones and curiosity are unstoppable. Even joined forces, how do I manage to resist them?
I ask a close friend, 3 years too late.
'You live in a world of your own,'
Echoing my very own recent pensive introspection verbatim. Lately I've only brushed the surface of the disturbing parallel world of interpersonal relationships, through second hand knowledge of course. I have a no-secrets pact with 6 of my friends. Obviously the few stories I have to share are juiceless and bland, but the ones I hear, while I belly-laugh equally hard as everyone else, make me feel a poignant tang every time. I walk in on the unspeakable acts committed by the last friends I would guess to engage in such shenanigans. Again, I laugh but the laughter hides a part of me inside that dies. It might be mere curiosity tickling me, which I am perfectly fine with, but I doubt that.
I catch myself searching the stoic tome of wikipedia for those two words (interpersonal attraction) in some desperate but inevitably fruitless attempt to find a magic code to elucidate this thickly-veiled world. The phrase that resonates in my skull is taken, quite inappropriately, from the tagline for the 40 Year Old Virgin. 'The longer you wait, the harder it gets.' Such a serious matter (for the moment), and I can only remember a line from a lewd comedy. Charming.
I'm quite comfortable in this world of my own. Inertia is an insufferable force. Hormones and curiosity are unstoppable. Even joined forces, how do I manage to resist them?
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