First it was a whirlwind relationship that blossomed over a week. It all started with a chance meeting sharing a cigarette. Now, it’s into the relationship and all the usual bullshit that comes with it.

What is to come? How will it end? I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.

* * *

I sit here aging. Growing second by second, minute by minute. It will never change. This will be the case till I my final minutes, till my final seconds.

Tis is life and there is no escaping it.

There’s no point in reminiscing in the past and living in the warm nostalgia. There’s no point in fretting about the unknown future. Whatever will come, will come and who is to say that it won’t?

Time beats on. Time goes on forever, even when all the clocks have lost their ability to keep track of time.

Time is the ever elusive constant of life.

There will always be beats that ticks and ticks and ticks.

* * *

Prose.

Been writing a lot of prose lately, well more so than usual.

Prose.

It’s not good. But I don’t think it is that horrendous either. It is what it is.

My latest was the longest and most involved short story I had ever written. It was based on a prompt by Ms. D.

Prompt: WORST Date. Ever

For the most part, I did just that. Wrote about what I think would be the worst date ever, but it’s open to a lot of interpretation as to what is the worst date.

I finished it and turned it in at the nick of time. Just a few minutes before it was due.

I actually had fun with it. It’s been a while since I had fun writing something. Everything else felt like a chore, but these little prompts were fun. Especially this one, because I was so ambitious with it.

Two characters. Alternating from each perspective. Written in different writing styles.

Quinn’s part was written in a more straightforward usual prose. Very sparse of colorful language and words.

Melissa’s part was written in the vein of chick-lit; chock full of inner monologues and questions.

It was definitely fun. It was definitely a challenge.

Overall, I am happy with the finished product, even though I know it still can use a lot of work and it has a lot more untapped potential.

It was a first draft and I need to remember that it is a first draft. It can be reworked and be better.

* * *

Looking over my writing, reading it over, seeing my style of prose and how I write, I know that it isn’t really that good.

Listening or even reading more polished and professional prose, those of David Levithan, Rachel Cohn, and even John Green, I see that my writing is lacking. I am holding back, afraid that the length is long, afraid of how I write.

Their writing is bold. Their writing is simply better.

Eventually, one day, I’ll reach that level of prose and hopefully maybe surpass it.

Here’s hoping.

* * *

She’s not here today.

I usually have been seeing her on the weekends, in her little group. I don’t know whether she was studying or just doing something else, but I would always see her.

I wonder what he story is. I don’t even know what her name is.

I know that she works here from time to time. That is all I know.

We’ve been seeing each other from time to time here on a customer/server capacity for a while now. We usually do our Hi’s as I place my order and I just go off to the table and focus on whatever work I was doing that day.

I’ve seen her at the Sushi Stop and here on her off days.

It’s been a while and she knows nothing of me as I know nothing of her.

One day we just started to talk a little more. Just a little bit and a little bit.

Slowly it builds and builds and still there is just really nothing. It is just two passing strangers that have a built in relationship of customer/server. Nothing more.

Soon she found out a little more about me. She found out that I understand Cantonese.

She was sitting there in her little study group as I coined it and she was talking to one of her friends who was working. She was asking her to sing a song, Happy Birthday and I just heard and laughed.

She noticed that I understood what she was saying and she asked me about it.

I told her a little. I understand a little. I understand a lot, enough actually, but I just told her a little.

She’s cute. Not bad looking at all. I wonder who she is. What is she like? I wonder…

Will I get to see her again today? I doubt it. She’s not here and there are no signs that she’ll be here.

I just sit here and continue what it is that I am doing, which is trying to get back to the times of yore where I can just write and write and write and get my thoughts out of my head.

I just write.

* * *

The above, not good writing at all.

* * *

Slowly drifting away.

It glides away leaving my heart with the heaviness that it has grown quite accustomed too. It is the heaviness before the break, the healing that it must do. It is the pain of the right direction, the pain of release.

Eventually it’ll just melt away as my heart just freezes up again, putting up its natural defenses and not anyone in.

But history tends to repeat itself. Someone will just find the chink in my heart’s armor and start chipping away at it, letting the warmth melt the ice away allowing me to feel again.

Me, feeling is never a good thing because it’ll always end with me in pain.

Heart pains.

The story of my life.

I think it is poetic that I have heart problems, a whole family history of heart problems. My murmur, heart disease, chest pains. Just fitting.

It is the only way for a person like me, a person with such a huge heart, to live, just full of heart problems.

Let’s see how long it lasts, let’s see who is the next person that can chip away and melt this heart of mine.

Let’s just see.