las noches en la calle

the manly scent with a mix of sweat.
them sexy shoulders.
tanned skin, subtle.
the way he looked you in the eyes,
the kind of way that actually kills.
literally.
that makes you giddy and jumpy even for a mere second, which really, feels so long.
those brown eyes.
and how he got that dracula-cowboy thing going,
mysterious and macho.
and how, in the same time, he rocked that awfully bright blue bomber jacket and Pikachu backpack,
how alive.
the awesome thing ever?
the connection that makes us clicked as fast as a zap of lightning.
creative writing, mexican food, soccer, our obsession on certain (ancient) cartoons, the beach, nike high-tops, world peace, the fact that we can talk about biology and world history all day long, or cars.
how he always bit his lower lips before he said anything,
how he sounded (and looked) so cute when he laughed which he would then crinkled his nose.
how he always got his face so very near to your face for every time he wanted to talk, that you could actually hear every decibel of his breathing, which made your heart thumped, in the most racy tempo possible.
how he would dragged you outside of class during the 5-minute break so that he could say hi (officially and personally) to you.
how he outsmarted you with any fact about anything in the world, which made you felt the need to top him, thus making encyclopedia brittanica the highest hit on your net's history.
how he knew you preferred parmesan over mozarella that he went on walking 12blocks down because the first two stores were out of parmesan on that particular frosty winter night.
how he always had an extra pen because you always lost yours. always, like on a daily basis.
how he soothed you with hershey's extra dark chocolate and his infamous virgin daiquiri after you bawled over disney's the hunchback of notre dame even for the 15th time.
how he could tell how upset you were just by listening to your 'hello' over the phone.
how he hugged you the day before you went away, so hard you felt not only your bones were crushing but also your soul.
how he cried in front of you for the first time,
how he begged you to stay,
and how,
for the first time,
you became him.
gathering your strength, pulling yourself together,
and confidently,
you told him how funny a thing called fate can be. you can never be too sure like before, but never ever dare to stop believing in it. in us. in everything. even if fate wouldnt play its miracle on us, at least, we had it good all the way.
and i have come to learn how to become
as strong, as tough, as confident,
as him
ever since.
thank you.
fate is,
still a funny thing :)

x

01:18 ·