the object of my affection

he’d watched me as i sleep. perhaps, watched my chest rise and fall as i breathe. he would push away the tendrils of my hair that covers my face. you see, even in my not-so conscious state, i am particularly skeptic. he’d hold my hand and press it with his. and he’d sigh. that wouldn’t be clear to me why, though. perhaps it could be his realization that inspite of all the weird things that i am, he loves me. or perhaps, he loves me first and then the weirdness started creeping out.

he’d kissed me on the forehead rather than on the lips. he always find it romantic; i couldnt. but he would always say that his maturity level is way beyond mine. i would not be able to see the logic the way he does. and i could only giggle in retort to that.

he’d give me really crazy things. like this bookmark he saw in the library. he figured someone left it there, forgot about it. he took it for himself and gave it to me. and amidst my accusations that he stole it, i would find it sweet. or this really ugly, ordinary stone he picked from some ugly seashore in earth-know-where. he said he remembered me when he saw it. it was actually insulting but he has always a way with things. i force myself to imagine it was not that ugly or ordinary then. it does not look ugly or ordinary to me, he said.

he’d made me do things. he really did not order me to do so, he just had this fuckin way of doing it. he was always a risk taker. he considered himself a dead meat if he would not find himself doing at least one new thing every week. i challenged him to try doing it everyday, see if he has guts to keep it up. i end up in a bet with him on who can keep on doing a new thing every week.

he’d love me as i have never been loved. in an abnormal, crazy, out-of-this world way. he’d love me more when im being difficult, says it’s a food to his soul. he’d fight for me any time, any day and make me learn my lessons well or hard, depending on the damage that fight has inflicted on him. he’d love me for all that i am and all that i was. though, i have to be honest, i’d love you far better if you could try acting like a girl for a start, he’d always add. i know he was joking because he was joking.

he’d trust me as he would his own hand placing a bet on a poker game in a casino. and believe me, that is flattering. he never trust anybody in this world more than himself. and you, being synonymously compared to my hand, are a big thing. he said. i sometimes would wonder if he was joking. but other times, it doesnt really matter. we had the world.

he is the object of my affection. and he doesn’t exist.


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