Aha! So there is something!

I found this as a draft on the posting log. I don't remember now what it was supposed to be about, but I guess I didn't like it enough to post it. I guess it's up to you to say-- although even I can't think of much to say about it. It only gets curious at the end. It's said I wrote it in June. (No wonder I don't remember.)

The man was only a couple meters away, but with every glance of mine, it seemed like he was ever so more distant than in reality. The hallway was full of busy life, many people walking through the hallway in a hurry, others waiting in line like myself for their ticket number.

I was in a bank, waiting for my number to be called, expecting a afternoon full of bills to pay. The line was especially long for being Wednesday.

I peeked at the time, and it was 2 o'clock. Twenty minutes had passed since the wonderful man had entered the building. I wasn't the only one looking at him, for many other women seemed to sigh with every movement that he made. Even mothers with there children could not help but stare.

What's so special about this man? He had this elegance about him. Well dressed and not too young, he was in his golden years of the thirties.

He was nor in the line nor sitting on one of the chairs. He had been reading a small book intently, his glasses complementing his brown eyes. I was dying to know what the book was, but it seemed like a costom made cover made out of leather.

For one second I thought he had taken a glance at me, as I might have stared too long, but when my heart skipped a beat, as he raised his head up to look around, I always seemed mistaken.

It was only until I had 4 people in front of me left, that I realized he was coming towards me. Or at least I thought so. In reality he was greeting a friend, or a coullege, a very tall man in a suit, with the darkest pair of eyes I had ever seen. How did I not notice this man behind me?

"So you're ready, are you?" The dark eyed man asked.
"More than ready, Zac."

So long

It's been so long since I've last written something, that I'm reluctant to try to now. It's silly, but I'm afraid I have lost the possible style I had, if I had any. Besides, I'm at lost at what to write about.

Well, poetry is off limits at the moment. It's what scares me the most to write. OK, "scares" is a strong word, but I'm the most reluctant to write poetry, because I don't feel the natural flow to do so anymore.

I've had two characters in my mind for years, which started out as fantasy-like mascots and then evolved into a modern, more mature version, non-fantasy-like. I'd like to write about them someday, but I feel the story has become very sad and I almost don't want a happy ending. Isn't that strange. Me, the romantic, doesn't want a happy ending? I mean, yes I like bittersweet, but I hate those stories where you go through an emotional roller-coaster, only to find yourself finishing it with a bad taste in your mouth, thinking "why did I go over the trouble of even reading all of it?".

Besides that, I need to create a good backstory, which I haven't stopped to do at all. And overall I need to create a decent story to back up the characters, other than the already existent fleeting & angst-y emotions.

Basically I haven't made an effort to flesh out a real story. And it's pitiful. v-v

Eventually I want to get back to writing. It was very satisfying to post and see it here. Sadly I have no other record of the older drafts which I never posted on this blog, because I lost them with the last computer I had that died on me. Next time I'm going to either post it all or keep it in a CD. It was fun to look back on the little bits I had written.

"John" continuation.

If you're wondering where the beginning of this is, just click on the tag of this post. I wanted to write more than just this as a continuation, but... oh well-- I shall do so next time. Btw, the 15 min timeline really worked. I couldn't stop for just 15 min. XD Now all I have to do is try to do that more than just once a week.

“I guess she was no good anyway. It’s not like we had a future or anything, right?”

I brushed the small amount of dust off the glossy picture in my hand. One of the last pictures I had of Denise and I.

At this last question, I turned my head to a complete stranger, as if waiting for an answer. The elderly man beside me merely continued to read his newspaper and drink his coffee; apparently not aware someone was sitting next to him at the counter.

I was at a small café that was only a couple minutes away from home. I seemed to always stop here when the weather wasn’t that great. It was cloudy that day, still wet outside from the recent rain. Most people still had their coats on, despite the heater inside.

I sighed. What happened to clingy women nowadays? They seemed to have vanished. Or at least I seemed to only fall for the complicated ones.

Looking back at the photo, I remembered the day before come back to me. She had left quickly after packing her bags; I had brought myself back to the veranda, not willing to say goodbye anymore. I barely waited for a minute, and she was out the door. Soon enough I could see her slender figure striding across the sidewalk with her bags, looking for a taxi. I was hoping she would turn back once she realized how stupid it was to wait for one to show up at this end of the neighborhood, but she waited stubbornly. Just as I waited stubbornly for her to disappear finally into a car’s door, and off, out of my sight. I regretted not coming down with her later.

I spent the rest of the day in my apartment, just dragging myself from the kitchen to the living room. I hadn’t watched TV for that long in a while. I stayed up till 3 o’clock in the morning, until I realized I had work that day, and grudgingly I went to bed.

Coming out of my thoughts, I put the photo down next to my empty coffee cup, and glanced at my watch. Exactly 2 PM. My work shift would start in a half an hour. If I were planning to get there on time, I would have to get going now.

Timeline

Okay, so it's nearly 12:30 AM. I should really be in bed, since I have a test tomorrow (writing composition), but aside from that, I simply shouldn't be up this late. Anyway, I know this isn't exactly what you guys want from me, but it's something. So here it is. A poem... after a LONG time. A poem that actually has something to do with how I feel. Normally my poems are irrelevant and have no relation to myself... So this is different. Hope you guys like it.

We sit together.
In cheerful words we laugh,
Exchanging mostly smiles.

We hug in private acknowledgement,
Of our seemingly long journey ahead.

But I am aware of the kitchen’s timer.
I can see it in your eyes.
Although they are so strong,
I know one day you will drift off,
And I will have no one else to talk to.

Sometimes I think of the day I shall hear the alarm.
It rings in my head,
Like a nervous heart-beat.
My very own.

“Don’t think too much ahead,”
“Think of the now—you won’t regret it.”
So many say.
Yet here I am,
Catching your eye once again,
A caring smile falls upon you.
And I am once again shot with the sudden shock,
Of possibly losing you.

[EDIT: And if you're wondering who the heck this could be about, since the possibilities could be relatively endless-- it's supposed to be in regards to my dad. I was in one of my recent mood swings, and with that mood swing, I couldn't help but think about the things that I fear in the future. One of the many is the parting of my dad... ;( ]

My brand new shoes

I tap my brand new shoes,
On the wooden floor

In a steady rhythm...
In hopes
That the sunset will not be as bright

May I stand strong when the day comes
Please...
To face them.

"No, John."

Around 9:30PM today, I felt inspired to write. So I did. It was completly random. For some reason I got carried away, as you can see by the time now. Tell me what you think. (Forgive me if this seems over-acted, strange, or unrealistic... )

All ideas and characters © Tsuu (aka Samantha S.) Please don't steal.

Sometimes words are all you need.
All you need,
To get the message across
That seemingly confused bridge.

That’s what I thought. That is what I did.
Yet now, things seem different.

I try to say it.
To shout it. To whisper it.

But it all seems to be in vain.
Nobody understands what I try to say. As if people of today have become deaf to such things.

Such things as I love you. Did you know that? Well I do. Oh, and I’d also like to marry you.

I tried saying this to Denise one morning. She flipped. Well, theoretically speaking.

We were having breakfast in my small flat downtown, on the terrace, despite the rain of the night before. I remember clearly the moisture of the air. The left over raindrops on the terrace’s end. The cloudy sky.

Denise was smiling despite not being your usual morning type of person. I think it was because this morning I had made her favorite coffee. It tasted pretty much the same, but had cinammon added to it.

We ate our coffee and toast quietly. It was a Saturday morning, nearly 10 o’clock. But since this week was a holiday for most, I suppose this morning was quiet as well.

As I ate my breakfast, I observed Denise in her white cotton robe, reading through her designer glasses, the newest addition of VOUGE. Her short honey-like hair was still a little messy, but for some reason I couldn’t help but find it made her sensual, as some of it falled across her pale, thin face.

To me, she looked like an angel reading a fashion magazine.

And I loved her. That was it. I could finally picture it then. Us together. Officially.

But this was so sudden. I had to digest my suprising discovery. Before I burst it out and said it too soon.

Yet I had to say something. Anything before I could let this feeling disappear too quickly.

So I did.

“Denise.”
“Yes John?” Denise did not lift her head.
“Why don’t you stay here a little longer?” I tried not to sound eager.
“Oh? But I thought we agreed to make it a a couple weeks. The those weeks are over, John. I need to go back home. Back to Florida.”

I was silent for a couple seconds. But then:
“Why not make it a month?”
Denise snorted impatiently. This time she stopped reading her magazine, put it down, took off her glasses and looked at me, and said:
“Look John. I have a life back home. A really busy one. I just can’t stay here with you.”

“Then I come with you to Florida. I can rent a place there.”
Denise seemed suddenly startled. Then she started shaking her head.
“No, John. That wouldn’t work. It just wouldn’t. Besides, you have your life here too. No.”

I wish she could understand by what I was asking that I wanted her to become part of my life. Be my life.
Denise was still talking.
“You have to understand John. We’ve known eachother for very little time.”

“You call a year very little time?” For some reason I had to get up from my chair to say that.
Denise at that point crossed her arms. She wanted to retort. I knew it. But she didn’t. Instead, she was very straight forward. Painfully so.

“John, I realize now that you may feel passionate about our relationship, but you must know that I have no plans to get married. Nor do I imagine this relationship lasting. That is why I have kept our visits short. Don’t you see that?”

I couldn’t help but feel hurt. Anybody would, right? And when one is hurt, you’re more vulnerable to say things you know you shouldn’t say.

“But I love you.” I knew I was creating a dead end at that point. But I couldn’t help myself.
Denise scowled. “Oh damn it, John! Don’t be such a wuss!”

I suddenly realized how cold Denise really was to emotions. She was so tender, so affectionate when we were normally together. Or maybe it was me. Maybe I was dreaming it all, and I never realized it. Maybe I was the only one who was affectionate. Who loved at all.

If this is how Denise was acting, it was obvious she didn’t care for me. I comfirmed this when she got up from her chair and started for the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” I could feel a lump in my throat. I felt pitiful. But despite that I followed her.
“I’m packing my things, John.” Sure enough, she was already taking her belongings out from the closet and bathroom and putting them in her bags that were now laid on the bed. I didn’t stop her necessarily. But I tried in words.

“The least you could can do is stay till tonight. Your flight is only until 6PM. I can drive you there. Besides, where do you plan to stay?”

“I know a good hotel around here.”
“Why not here?”
“No John.”
I raised my hands in the air in sudden frustration. The feeling of hurt was starting to wear off.
“Stop “No John!”-ing me! You are not my mother, and I’m not a child, you know!”
She turned her head to look at me. Her expression was blank. Yet I knew at that moment what she meant.

She really did consider me a child.

Ack. I'm feeling iffy with my dialouge.

My name is Ruth A. Marigold

Alas! It has been far too long. Forgive me, but I am not a dead writer just yet! I've been wanting to write something different, something fresh. And well.. I've realized something. I can't write one story, or focus on one at all times. I have to vary, or else I lose my creativity and inspiration all together. (Which explains why I don't want to be a full-fledged writer.) Besides, this way you guys won't be bored anymore!

This came from an idea I suggested to Chai to help her on one of her story projects she had for class. If she used it or not, I don't know. But I just wanted to try it. So this is just a start... A test. to see how it goes.
All ideas and characters © Tsuu (aka Samantha S.)

My name is Ruth A. Marigold. I was born in the winter, of the year 1832. We are now in the year of 1851, and it is spring. I am known for my grand status, by my inheritance of my former father, who invested in the now famous Marigold Manor.

The Marigold family is one of those gems of society. They have lived in riches for centuries… and we do not plan to change that fact in history. I in fact plan to raise it.

What in the world is a silly young woman doing in the hold of so much money, you must be wondering, kind sir or lady. There must be some other relatives older than her, who can take charge, you must be thinking.

My parents, pity their souls, were not blessed with a son. Instead they had a healthy baby girl. My mother died when I turned seven. My father, anxious to then marry me off, started his search for a possible husband by the time I was thirteen.

My father started to invite me to parties, give me luxurious gowns, pearls—much a girl’s dream. Many for my sweet smile and charming exterior praised me. I had many bachelors ask for my hand in marriage.

This was when I tasted the true taste of decadence. Wine was sweet, money brought many desires come true… As I soon realized what society was made of—I made a decision. Something nobody could change, not even my father.

I would become heir of the Marigold inheritance. No one else would hold it from me.

But life has its distractions. Other than money and greed, there does lie many mysteries. Many very powerful…

This is where my true story begins.