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^{Schoolwork. Our professor asked us to write “I love you very much,” in a more creative way, so I wrote this. The real requirement is to use concrete objects, and I think I did pretty well.} 

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Straining to catch a glimpse (even a glimpse)

Of that ocean lidded and shadowed

Or a beckoning of your wrist

(Black waves in the wind)

And still the water I am treading is shallow.

(Parenthetical Thoughts)

There was a time when I sincerely wondered if I was socially retarded. It was at the height of puberty and almost all of my classmates at the time were involved in relationships and going out on dates. It took me a few months, a couple of days before Valentines Day, before I realized that I was the only one… lacking tryst-wise.

(Am I lovable enough?)

When I looked in the mirror this morning, I knew I was lovable. My only problem now is whether or not she’ll admit to having the same opinion.

I ruffle my hair a little, straighten my shirt, check my fly, grab my messenger bag and pivot towards the door. My shoes tap sharply on the tiles, anxious and distressed. 

(Did I forget anything?)

It’ll be a ten-minute walk or so to the park and with twenty more minutes to kill. I think I can still buy ice cream for the both of us if I hurry and get there before she does. 

(Does she even like ice cream?)

I make my steps bigger. We planned this last Friday; a short walk to the movies and maybe have dinner afterwards — as friends, though neither of us felt the need to mention it. After all, saying that I’m only going out with her as friends is like saying I’m, without a doubt, the reincarnation of Atahualpa. 

I don’t intend to remain just friends. 

Glancing around, I spot a flower shop not too far from the park. Should I…?

(What kind of flowers does she like?)

Maybe I shouldn’t.

(What if she’s allergic to flowers?)

I don’t know her at all. 

I shove my fists as deep into my pockets as possible and continue into the park. She’s standing by the nearest bench, facing the tree. Her face is turned up and I follow her gaze to a tiny squirrel.

(Does she like pets?)

She holds out a hand to touch the squirrel, I think, but it flees from her. I see her arm tense, as if she wanted to reach out for it but stopped herself immediately.  She rolls her bright, blue eyes at me. “Hey you.” 

“Hi. You ready?”

“Let me just bring my squirrel.” Sarcastic and teasing. She smiles as we fall into step beside each other.

(Would she like me more if I had a pet?)

“How’ve you been?” she asks lightly. 

“Great,” I answer. “Just… I’ve been thinking a lot lately.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

“Well, so have I.”

I smother a grin and shrug. I think I can tell her now.

(Should I tell her?)

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

No, no. I can’t.

“What’s the capital of Poland?”

She blinks, confused. “Warsaw?”

(Why can’t I tell her?)

I can do it. “Yeah?”

“Yes, probably. I was browsing the atlas this morning.”

“Weird.”

(Does that mean she likes Geography?)

“Hey…”

“Yes?”

(Can I tell her now?)

“… How about Turkey?”

“Ankara,” she replies with a laugh. “What’s up with you and countries today?”

“Nothing.” Absolutely nothing. “But hey. I have something to tell you.”

“What is it?” She walks closer to me, arm touching mine every other step. Her nose scrunches up as she gives me a sour look. “You’re acting weird.”

“Sorry.”

“So?”

… I can’t tell her. 

“Did you know that Italy is shaped like a boot?”

Time

^{Disclaimer: I do not own Prince of Tennis or any of the characters in the anime/manga. Neither do I pretend to.}

Lips left a fluttering trail all the way down to his collar bone, light and teasing, and lazy golden eyes followed the movement. Both of them knew that there wouldn’t be any attempts of going any lower than that, and they didn’t mind. After all, they had plenty of time.

Jirou sighed, breath tickling the other’s neck, and pushed himself up slowly. He hovered over Ryoma with a sleepy grin. “Stop here, right?”

The boy nodded and tugged him back down.

And the nights they spent together would end just like that: Jirou throwing his arm over his Ryoma’s stomach, pressing kisses on the damp, dark hair, until they fall into slumber. A couple of hours after the sun rises, Ryoma would blink at his companion and even stare quietly at him for a while before closing his eyes once more.

It was a Saturday morning. They had plenty of time.

Celebration

I will wake up early every morning for this year.

Ju crossed out that line with a pleased smile. It had taken a whole month but he’d finally broken all of his New Year’s Resolutions. Or he will have once he’s finished with the last one.

His face shadowed as he turned towards an unguarded liquor stash.

I will not purposely get drunk.

“Celebration time.”

NeveRide

On the way home, I had the best jeepney ride of my life. 

The driver was rude, accelerating and decelerating the vehicle. He didn’t peek once at the passengers through the wide mirror over his head. We were all hanging off the rail like letting go would whisk us off to Neverland.

Adults don’t want to go to Neverland. They’re too huffy and professional. I want to be an adult.

I won’t go to Neverland so stay out of my business, Peter. I want to be an adult.

I held on to the rail as tight as I could as the jeep swerved into the path of a red motorcycle. I turned my head back to the delivery man. He’d stopped at the side of the road, looking shaken; shrinking into the distance. His pizza’s still in the box, which is a good thing.

The driver’s face was stone. He looked like a monster, like Godzilla but not inspiring fear. Looking at him, I suddenly felt strange towards the other cars on the road.

There were few and they were fast. The jeepney was faster. I didn’t see a vehicle more than once.

We ran over a hump and the child across from me was tossed up to the air. I watched, wondering, as the boy’s mother snatched him to her side. Safe. My mom, had she been here, would’ve been yelling at the driver since the jeep started to move.

She would’ve asked him to slow down, to stomp on the brake, to stop right now so we could go down and find another jeepney. Safe. 

I pulled out my handkerchief wiped the sweat off my forehead. All over my face. On my neck. Stuffing the cloth into my bag, I loosened my hold on the railing. A while later, both my hands were occupied with freeing myself from a very hot jacket. I quickly returned to my earlier position, facing towards the driver and hand clutching at the rail, but with my jacket slung over my shoulder.

“Para lang d’yan (Stop there),” someone said. The jeepney pulled to a shocking halt. 

I looked at a boy who’d been on the jeepney I’d ridden before this one. He seemed to recognize me and smiled a little and then was down the street to somewhere else. He was pretty eager to jump off, but not scared of the ride. 

A man and a woman got on, adults in office attire. Tired expressions praying for it to be a peaceful trip home. The jeepney started and they were like the earlier passengers, hanging on to the metal lifeline.

The yellow bridge ran under us quickly and I almost missed my street.

“Para! (Stop!)” I screamed to the front, not wanting to walk around an alien place. I almost flew over the driver’s seat when the jeep screeched.

Slowly, I made my way down and steadied myself.

The walk home was pale and the exhiliration ran dry. The passing cars looked strange as they veered into a one-way road. I felt like a statue, standing there with my feet touching the ground. 

Wind, metal, leather and concrete heating up rubber.

Someday.