Of Love life

By afparungao - Friday, July 16, 2010

They say, when your career's in full swing, your love life takes a backseat. When most of your time ends up with face to face with planner and laptop, waking up early to avoid the hassle of traffic, and going home thinking of hitting your bed straight, chances are your only source of social interaction would most likely end up with Twitter and Facebook. 

After the tumultuous end of a previous relationship, I succumbed to the idea of not dating anyone for awhile, at least probably for three to four months. I've actually survived a year of not going to any dates, so I don't think there will be a problem in taking date hiatus for a while. I vowed to work hard in the corporate ladder, save up and buy something for myself. Yes, all me. I wanted to be selfish. But sometimes, no matter how you try to resist, there will always be someone who will squeeze in and make his way- to your head and heart. That one who has been there for more than a decade. 

Especially if that person has always been the picture of perfection in your mind. The one you would always put on pedestal because no matter who you meet, there will never be someone comparable to him. How he delves in your mind and how he charms your way in late nights, talking about complete nonsense. How you would always anticipate messages coming in and how you would always wish it was his. How you always wonder why he works so late. Why you would always think he'll never have a time for you, even if he actually has. How you try to map out dates where you can completely block them off just so you can spend some time together. That one boy, you've always 'prayed' for, despite not really praying at all. That one you always wished for at 11:11 am or pm, just to make sure it will come true. 

I'm word vomiting. The 30-minute walks make a good exercise for the body and mind. But I hate that it makes me think, about you and me all the time. Which actually kind of sucks, sometimes in a good way. 

That line is totally weird. 

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