Monday, October 29, 2007

Private Profile

I've convinced myself 289 years ago that I didn't like him anymore. And whatever feelings I had for him then, I'm sure, just went along the lines of infantile. And of course I still feel the same way today.

Now, am I happy--no, content--with this present state of affairs? I don't know. A lot of time's passed since then. There's just no way of telling. It has reached the point where hypothetical questions have become moot and irrelevant. He is there, and I am here. Time and distance has rendered even the most fertile of imaginings fruitless.

But sometimes, out of nowhere, a flicker of his existence suddenly appears in my unsuspecting mind. All of a sudden, I just have to know how he's doing. I want to know what's been going on in his life. 'Cause that's just the way I am. I have way too much idle time in my hands, which is why I spend most of it doing meaningless things like running through the cobwebs in my mind. I'm pretty sure it's not the symptom of being hung up. Vestiges of past obsessions still run deep within me. I tell you, they can be very hard to overcome. Or perhaps I'm just in love with the idea of being obsessed.

Eitherway, it didn't help when last week, I heard two voices passing his name back and forth. All the while I tried my best to act uninterested and do the proper thing--which is not to listen to other people's conversations. Like hell I could.

My best attempt at eavesdropping only resulted in picking up the dregs of whispers, giggles, "Oh-my-gods," and intrigue. Still, I am no better than the last time we met but didn't speak--not even so much as look or acknowledge that we once knew each other's names.

Now, more than ever, I am itching to find out what has happened to him, if only to reassure myself that I need not have bothered.

But I can't, cause his life--the only one I can have access to--is restricted only to his friends.

Cursed be.