<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371340682848504899</id><updated>2012-02-16T14:48:06.860-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Lapse in Reality.</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4yearspersecond.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8371340682848504899/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4yearspersecond.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>I am Luigi.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04715540877960655594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>13</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371340682848504899.post-773474040666910072</id><published>2009-11-28T06:44:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-28T06:44:42.906-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's empty.</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;In a world of nothingness, there is the wind. Faint rays of light, where sometimes it rains.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;A person who has cried all her tears.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;“Her”.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;How much time has passed? A year or two?&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;No. It has already been 4 years. Yet even now, the reason while I still wait, I cannot recall. However, the winds that blow as the tides that flow with time, it carries a nostalgia along with the warm wind. Like a warmth of a mother’s hand, a father’s gentle smile.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;And for no apparent reason, she’s like everyone. But at the same time, she isn’t. Her voice was the sweet seduction, and it’s as if I picked the wrong shade of a poisoned tree.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Apt to wander, it is a gentle and warm voice.  It’s a faint voice.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;I run towards the end of the world of nothingness. In my head, I hear a voice. “Go to this world of nothingness”. It was a blurry whisper  of  uncertainty.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;This soliloquy of emptiness goes on, continuing to speak many things.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;However.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;This story did not register my mind, for the longest time. Seeing those same dreams, it became a startling revelation, and a total shock for me. Being lost in confusion, in this world of nothingness.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;A foolishness  from fate, after a year from that moment, an earnest realization.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;That after all of those moments, it will all be forgotten like any other unwanted memory. The million lights scattered across the sky. Even in the distant future that I might feel it again, the same vast world that I no longer know will stretch out before me.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8371340682848504899-773474040666910072?l=4yearspersecond.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4yearspersecond.blogspot.com/feeds/773474040666910072/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8371340682848504899&amp;postID=773474040666910072' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8371340682848504899/posts/default/773474040666910072'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8371340682848504899/posts/default/773474040666910072'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4yearspersecond.blogspot.com/2009/11/its-empty.html' title='It&apos;s empty.'/><author><name>I am Luigi.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04715540877960655594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371340682848504899.post-4572262725731872336</id><published>2009-08-25T06:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-25T06:44:39.724-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bleak emotions.</title><content type='html'>21st Century year 2009. 25&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; of August.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It" was yet to awaken.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My life has been spared, but these feelings might never regain consciousness, and I am solely responsible for this. I made it stay here for too long. Left all alone, abandoned by time, it chose death over despair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I believe it will regain consciousness one day. I will place it in a cold sleep. This way, it could never be tarnished.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, I do not know if I had taken the best course of action. I grieved heavily over its loneliness, and I willfully chose its own death. Even in the distant future that I might feel it again, the same vast world that I no longer know will stretch out before me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When that happens, what would I say to her?  I might just be &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;committing&lt;/span&gt; the same mistake all over again. But even so.. even if that's the case.. I..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's as if million lights were scattered across the sky. It was said that those memories were the most beautiful thing a person could cherish. And this is the first time I've experienced the warmest feeling yet the coldest one a person could feel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once more, I wish she could feel the same way back again.  Even if it took centuries, even if it took thousands of years..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yet, why is it.. that she..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's the one I couldn't forget? Even if thousands of years came to pass, for the sake of the moment that she'll become finally aware of me.. For the sake of easing her loneliness when she realizes those.. Even if this world's visage changes, I shall continue the way I am, for what I feel, right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With these warm feelings that she doesn't know, I will wait.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So that, at least she can rest assured that one person is waiting for her. So I can tell her, that she's not alone. I will become the star that would shine in the darkest and deepest abyss, so I hope that she could be my light to follow as a guide.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8371340682848504899-4572262725731872336?l=4yearspersecond.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4yearspersecond.blogspot.com/feeds/4572262725731872336/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8371340682848504899&amp;postID=4572262725731872336' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8371340682848504899/posts/default/4572262725731872336'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8371340682848504899/posts/default/4572262725731872336'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4yearspersecond.blogspot.com/2009/08/bleak-emotions.html' title='Bleak emotions.'/><author><name>I am Luigi.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04715540877960655594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371340682848504899.post-9108379083529121729</id><published>2009-08-09T03:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-09T03:57:15.059-07:00</updated><title type='text'>To be or not to be.</title><content type='html'>The break between the second and third year of highschool-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That is when I realized something. Either way, I believe that I'm still blessed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The odds that this exact feeling is also happening to any other person in this world, is probably unlikely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course, I could not escape these feelings, even if I had escaped it, I can't do anything about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps saying that I was unlucky, is simply an extremely irresponsible argument, and I should just accept that the fault was my own.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After all, it all happened because I am myself. I believe it was that type of a series of incidents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She is the girl in our class, who is seen as lively and cheerful. Although, I can see enough of her fissures in her heart, the tears that broke those feelings apart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even though she has been in the same class as me for all three years of highschool, I have yet to see her energetic and cheerful side, without those sad feelings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She is sometimes seen staring blankly on the boundless and stretched sky. And over times, I feel that she's asleep with her eyes wide open.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course, that doesn't mean that she keeps those feelings all along. She is always like that, and looking like that is simply where she belongs. She doesn't have a wall around her corner, but she had swords that piereced her heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just as second nature that she isn't here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Though, despite what I've said, that hardly means a thing. Even though I have the misfortune of keeping these feelings while being the same class with her for three years, with a person whom I have never exchanged feelings with, I wouldn't feel lonely about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll be just fine. And she would probably second my opinion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's what I've always thought. But on a random day like no other.. those feelings were gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a shocking encounter, and also a devastating one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;As usual, I was almost going to be late. I was running down on the school hall. When I reached the landing of a staircase, a girl fell from the sky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Black.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I was right in avoiding her, and my feelings, wasn't I?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, maybe it was a mistake."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because those words, my thoughts, were extremely , and unreasonably light. As if it was a bad joke, as strange as it could get, as creepy as it could get... as if she was'nt present. That's right, for me, I've sealed all those feelings, turning a blind eye as if it did not existed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With this, I still continue to feign ignorance, and conscience is shouting loudly back at me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8371340682848504899-9108379083529121729?l=4yearspersecond.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4yearspersecond.blogspot.com/feeds/9108379083529121729/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8371340682848504899&amp;postID=9108379083529121729' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8371340682848504899/posts/default/9108379083529121729'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8371340682848504899/posts/default/9108379083529121729'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4yearspersecond.blogspot.com/2009/08/to-be-or-not-to-be.html' title='To be or not to be.'/><author><name>I am Luigi.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04715540877960655594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371340682848504899.post-8604029123713288420</id><published>2009-04-13T06:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-13T07:17:15.898-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Untitled - 1</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;To find the area of the circle, multiply 3.14 by the square of the length of the chain tied on the sheep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A stake is placed, and a sheep is tied into the stake. The sheep eats grass everyday. Unfortunately, the sheep eats grass, and also its roots. Then, the grass would never grow back again. The land around the sheep would become a desert, eventually. The length of the chain is three years old. It has always been the same length since the event 3 years ago. The stretchable length of the chain is thirteen hours. That's everything of her right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The girl is only one in this world, and that made her the god of this world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She found herself on an island when she began to understand things around her. The island was small, and one could go around it in half a day by foot. All she could see at the beach, the ocean, the sky, and the clouds and the horizon stretching as far as she could see in a 360-degree view.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was a mansion on the island.There was a huge amount of preserved foods and daily necessities inside the wareours of the castle, so she did not have to starve. There were tons of books which she couldn't finish reading, even if she spent her whole life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They contained everything in this world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The stories written in the books were all about people. People cannot live alone. There were many books with that written in them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, the girl was alone. She lives by herself. Laughing, crying, things that were previously none of value, none of them were needed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They were finished. They were completed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The girl was the first 'average' person in human history. The average of the statistics is exactly as the sum of herself. That's why, everything she does is correct. And at the same time, everything, could be wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She did not need to know why.&lt;br /&gt;And besides, the girl never wondered why because&lt;br /&gt;she was there before she realized.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WIN! The previous posts have pictures. w00t. :D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8371340682848504899-8604029123713288420?l=4yearspersecond.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4yearspersecond.blogspot.com/feeds/8604029123713288420/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8371340682848504899&amp;postID=8604029123713288420' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8371340682848504899/posts/default/8604029123713288420'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8371340682848504899/posts/default/8604029123713288420'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4yearspersecond.blogspot.com/2009/04/untitled-1.html' title='Untitled - 1'/><author><name>I am Luigi.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04715540877960655594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371340682848504899.post-815539629655825741</id><published>2009-04-07T19:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-09T03:45:42.812-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Distant World.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FRP-cJd-8uQ/Sd3Qcw_TgEI/AAAAAAAAAAc/rMQLGkM4POk/s1600-h/vlcsnap-190452.png"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FRP-cJd-8uQ/Sd3Qcw_TgEI/AAAAAAAAAAc/rMQLGkM4POk/s320/vlcsnap-190452.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322639527227129922" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you want to fly through the sky?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FRP-cJd-8uQ/Sd3PettIy6I/AAAAAAAAAAU/KSud8stBRNw/s1600-h/vlcsnap-189971.png"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FRP-cJd-8uQ/Sd3PettIy6I/AAAAAAAAAAU/KSud8stBRNw/s320/vlcsnap-189971.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322638461193735074" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is it that painful?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FRP-cJd-8uQ/Sd3QsUbgIjI/AAAAAAAAAAk/nAElFAsdibc/s1600-h/vlcsnap-197850.png"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FRP-cJd-8uQ/Sd3QsUbgIjI/AAAAAAAAAAk/nAElFAsdibc/s320/vlcsnap-197850.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322639794438677042" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you want to go together?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FRP-cJd-8uQ/Sd3RsiVsrYI/AAAAAAAAAA0/6n4xpY5E1KU/s1600-h/vlcsnap-207124.png"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FRP-cJd-8uQ/Sd3RsiVsrYI/AAAAAAAAAA0/6n4xpY5E1KU/s320/vlcsnap-207124.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322640897684057474" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey, the world is pretty, isn't it? But there's something that I cannot accept... That someday, you'll find, your other true half...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FRP-cJd-8uQ/Sd3Rb-gt_vI/AAAAAAAAAAs/nkbHbxF-KSI/s1600-h/vlcsnap-198737.png"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FRP-cJd-8uQ/Sd3Rb-gt_vI/AAAAAAAAAAs/nkbHbxF-KSI/s320/vlcsnap-198737.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322640613188697842" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please stay by my side forever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&gt;fin&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8371340682848504899-815539629655825741?l=4yearspersecond.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4yearspersecond.blogspot.com/feeds/815539629655825741/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8371340682848504899&amp;postID=815539629655825741' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8371340682848504899/posts/default/815539629655825741'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8371340682848504899/posts/default/815539629655825741'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4yearspersecond.blogspot.com/2009/04/distant-world.html' title='A Distant World.'/><author><name>I am Luigi.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04715540877960655594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FRP-cJd-8uQ/Sd3Qcw_TgEI/AAAAAAAAAAc/rMQLGkM4POk/s72-c/vlcsnap-190452.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371340682848504899.post-2535237647540041880</id><published>2009-04-05T17:36:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-09T00:34:54.800-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cornered in a Parallel World.</title><content type='html'>The season was the beginning of spring, and on that day it was raining.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Introduction]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's why, her body, and mine too, was heavy with humidity. The air surrounding us was saturated, with the immensely pleasant fragrance of the rain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Earth turned on its axis quietly without  a sound. And in this world, her heart and mine continued to lose warmth gradually.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img11.imageshack.us/img11/7717/29193706.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 480px; height: 180px;" src="http://img11.imageshack.us/img11/7717/29193706.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was kind, like a mother, and beautiful, like a lover. That's why, I was completely become enamored of her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She lives alone. And, every morning, she leaves for school. I don't know what's on her mind, nor I am interested. But I, very much like the way she looks when she goes inside the room in the morning. Her hair properly tied up, the faint smell of cosmetics and perfume. "Good morning", so she says aloud warmly with a smile, then straightens up her back. Then she walks away with a pleasant sound of echoing from her shoes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A smell like grassy places wet with rain in the morning remains for a while.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img11.imageshack.us/img11/4217/90827717.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 480px; height: 180px;" src="http://img11.imageshack.us/img11/4217/90827717.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Summer has come. And still, I don't have a girlfriend. It's not that I don't want to have one, it's just that I'm not ready for commitments yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Summer has come and I don't have a girlfriend. Then, I met a girl. She is small and cute. And really good at being spoiled. But after all, I like a girl who is more mature. Like "Her".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img242.imageshack.us/img242/1803/67548143.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 480px; height: 360px;" src="http://img242.imageshack.us/img242/1803/67548143.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Her loneliness]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In that way, my third summer passes, and gradually cooler breezes begin to blow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day like that, after a long long phone conversation, she cried.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img141.imageshack.us/img141/7756/68905318.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 480px; height: 180px;" src="http://img141.imageshack.us/img141/7756/68905318.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't understand the reason, but she cried by my side for a long time. I think she is not the one at fault. Only I am the one always watching. She is always kinder than anyone else. She is more beautiful than anyone else. She lives more earnestly than anyone else.  I wanted to hear her voice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img11.imageshack.us/img11/6025/11853463.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 480px; height: 360px;" src="http://img11.imageshack.us/img11/6025/11853463.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Someone, Someone.. Someone save me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the darkness that has no end, the world that we aboard continues to revolve. The season has changed, and it now winter. The scenery of the rain that, to me, is the first one I've seen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"For some reason, the rain won't stop from falling."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a feeling that I've know a long time ago. The winter mornings are late. So even when it is time for her to enter the room, it is still dark outside. The sight of her, engulfed in her uniform, seems practically to be beautiful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She, who wore the scent of the rain, and her slender, cold finger tips, the sound of the black clouds streaming by far in the upper sky, her soul, and my feelings, and our room..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The raindrops inhales the sound of all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the sound of her voice, that she used to greet me and everybody else, reached my ears.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I, and probably she too..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This world, I think we like it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img11.imageshack.us/img11/8875/99824693.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 480px; height: 180px;" src="http://img11.imageshack.us/img11/8875/99824693.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8371340682848504899-2535237647540041880?l=4yearspersecond.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4yearspersecond.blogspot.com/feeds/2535237647540041880/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8371340682848504899&amp;postID=2535237647540041880' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8371340682848504899/posts/default/2535237647540041880'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8371340682848504899/posts/default/2535237647540041880'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4yearspersecond.blogspot.com/2009/04/cornered-in-parallel-world.html' title='Cornered in a Parallel World.'/><author><name>I am Luigi.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04715540877960655594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371340682848504899.post-2766230605597917674</id><published>2009-04-01T21:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-05T18:14:28.484-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I was on the right track, but on the wrong train.</title><content type='html'>Okay. it's summer vacation.  Had a lot of thoughts. Also had a bad year-ender.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This post, is a post dedicated to whoever reads this post. About the previous posts, I assume I can't make any of those at the moment, because my love lies lost in time right now. The real post is this. The previous posts, they're just pieces of me that won't fit on my mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As the title states, I'm on the right track, but on the wrong train.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A dilemma, yes. My thoughts today and yesterday won't meet. I don't know why. The pieces won't fit together. Ah, yea, there ARE missing pieces. Fragments of my yesterday. I have to move forward, I can't turn back. Even if I already know, the direction inside of me keeps pointing contrastive to what I want. Lol, do I have a mental problem? XD&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They say, God created conscience to back us up if our common sense fails. I think not. My common sense failed, and I can't hear my conscience.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wait.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think it is ME that don't want to hear what my conscience says. Too bad. I don't have someone to talk to. That's why this blog is created. This post. Right here, right now. My conscience does not reply to my questions, rather, this conscience says an entirely different opinion.  I've been talking about conscience here, but, before I must continue, what is conscience?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Conscience&lt;/b&gt; is an &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ability" title="Ability"&gt;ability&lt;/a&gt; or a &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Power_%28sociology%29" title="Power (sociology)" class="mw-redirect"&gt;faculty&lt;/a&gt; that distinguishes whether one's actions are right or wrong. It leads to feelings of &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Remorse" title="Remorse"&gt;remorse&lt;/a&gt; when one does things that go against his/her &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moral_value" title="Moral value" class="mw-redirect"&gt;moral values&lt;/a&gt;, and to feelings of &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rectitude" title="Rectitude" class="mw-redirect"&gt;rectitude&lt;/a&gt; or &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Integrity" title="Integrity"&gt;integrity&lt;/a&gt; when one's actions conform to our moral values.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's what wikipedia says. But I really didn't understand even a word there. Lol. Nice copy pasting skills.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(175, 0, 175);"&gt;"A conscience is what hurts when all your other parts feel so good"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A statement that struck me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's going to be different now. I can't promise, but I'll try my best. If not, for the betterment of me. I'll be serious in my studies now. Really. I can't have this luxury, the luxury of slacking.&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt; Still, there's 20% chance that I can do it. The 80% says I can't do it. xDD&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; Argh, my brain went dry. Can't process any thoughts anymore. Imma have my lunch. I'll be back. :D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8371340682848504899-2766230605597917674?l=4yearspersecond.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4yearspersecond.blogspot.com/feeds/2766230605597917674/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8371340682848504899&amp;postID=2766230605597917674' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8371340682848504899/posts/default/2766230605597917674'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8371340682848504899/posts/default/2766230605597917674'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4yearspersecond.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-was-on-right-track-but-on-wrong-train.html' title='I was on the right track, but on the wrong train.'/><author><name>I am Luigi.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04715540877960655594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371340682848504899.post-4377552222714150123</id><published>2009-01-29T23:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-13T21:49:31.074-08:00</updated><title type='text'>She is.</title><content type='html'>It was a year ago. She said she felt like losing something.  At that time, I was in first year, and couldn't understand what she meant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Those words had a strange effects on me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the time, we were drawn by two things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was always looking up in the clouds. I felt that something precious waited there. I yearned, to go there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The place that I admired beyond the clouds became the place of a precious promise. At that moment, I wasn't afraid of anything. But in reality, the world and the flow of time kept on going all around me. Yet I couldn't help but feel that the nighttime smell in the train, the trust of my friends, and her presence were the only things in this world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In those days, I was overcome with bleak feelings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When did I start having such pain? like living alone, the nights seemed to last forever. When I couldn't pass the time effectively, I always go outside, and pretended to wait for someone. Once I grew bored of that, I'd walk home as slowly as possible. I had friends, but I didn't feel like hanging out with them when I wasn't wearing my school uniform.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a city of more than a hundred thousand people, there wasn't a single person I wanted to see or talk to. It was on those kinds of days that I dreamt about her. Those dreams were about me trying to find her, who was alone in a cold place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I never find her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My memoirs of her, which made my heart tremble, remained in my mind after I woke. When I think about it, I realize this is the third year since I've been in highschool. It's as if I've spent my days holding my breath under cold water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's as if..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm the only one left in the world. That's how I feel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I first wake up, it's like I don't know where I am. I sometimes think that I may have come to the wrong place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dreams I have about her seems more real than the reality surrounding me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In another dream, I am alone in an empty universe. In that dream, my whole body.. fingers, cheeks, fingernails,heels, and even the tips of my hair are painful with loneliness. Those warm days I spent together with her, with my friends, seem more like a dream. But, as long as I don't lose those memories, I think I might be able to keep a grip on reality in the future.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been looking at her, for a long time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But,  I might have just been dreaming. Even so, the warmth of her hand that was left on my skin was still flowing through my body.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On those now distant days.. I made a promise I couldn't keep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I always have this feeling. This feeling of losing something. The world is really beautiful, but..&lt;br /&gt;it feels like it's just me who's drifting away from it. But, at that time, I thought she was the center of this bright world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh. Now I see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought I had understood..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Something very important. I always thought that it would be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every time I wake up, I feel my body trembling at the anticipation of waking. I wonder why, right now.. my fear is greater than my anticipation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She said that, she also feel that she's losing something. Right now, I feel the same way. But, that promise I made after school, I'm going to that place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I know. I now know what I'm going to lose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to lose her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All I need is one moment after I wake up, I don't want this feeling to disappear. I have to tell her, that the connection in our dreams and in our hearts is something special.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a world with no people, all that existed was my need to see her. For all this time, I've needed to tell her, how much I love her. I won't need anything else. Just one moment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This feeling..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The need to tell her something, something very important.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, it's gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a world where I lost the promise, that feeling, I can't begin to live again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8371340682848504899-4377552222714150123?l=4yearspersecond.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4yearspersecond.blogspot.com/feeds/4377552222714150123/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8371340682848504899&amp;postID=4377552222714150123' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8371340682848504899/posts/default/4377552222714150123'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8371340682848504899/posts/default/4377552222714150123'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4yearspersecond.blogspot.com/2009/01/she-is.html' title='She is.'/><author><name>I am Luigi.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04715540877960655594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371340682848504899.post-250840125146604613</id><published>2008-08-12T06:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-12T06:40:04.550-07:00</updated><title type='text'>We're close, but we seemed to be apart.</title><content type='html'>Thinking back to that day, surely, that person must also strongly feel my feelings too when she looks back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had this memory 3 years before this year. Both of us was still first years. It must have been because of the confession I remembered, the spark wherein I faltered. By just living one's life, sorrow starts to accumulate here and there. Be it the clothes hung out in the sun to dry, the daily rising of the sun. And the sent messages of a mobile phone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I still like you. Even now."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So wrote the lady I admired three years ago, until now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But, if we were to exchange a thousand letters, our hearts would not even move one centimeter closer together."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the past year, I have forged forward without any regard. Just to touch what I could not reach, that confession was a definite indicator of that fact. Without understanding the sources from which, this menacing thought surged forth from, I continued studying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I last noticed, my heart had become gradually hard from the loss of its youthful vitality.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, on a certain morning, when at last I came into an earnest realization, that I had lost everything which was beautiful. I knew, I was at most of my limits, and continued to live.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a dream. Last week. In that dream, we were yet to turn 14.  We were in a vast green grassland covered with dew. The swaying of the trees, the flight of the birds, the formation of clouds that extended far into the distance. A dazzling sight. We walked on a pathway, yet did not leave any footprints. And, like that, "Someday, this dream might become reality, to be together again."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Both of us, without any doubts at all, that's what I thought.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8371340682848504899-250840125146604613?l=4yearspersecond.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4yearspersecond.blogspot.com/feeds/250840125146604613/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8371340682848504899&amp;postID=250840125146604613' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8371340682848504899/posts/default/250840125146604613'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8371340682848504899/posts/default/250840125146604613'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4yearspersecond.blogspot.com/2008/08/were-close-but-we-seemed-to-be-apart.html' title='We&apos;re close, but we seemed to be apart.'/><author><name>I am Luigi.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04715540877960655594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371340682848504899.post-7831342182110063858</id><published>2008-07-16T05:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-16T05:42:34.650-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Reality was never so sweet.</title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Unrequited love&lt;/b&gt; is &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Love#Psychological_views" title="Love"&gt;love&lt;/a&gt; that is not openly reciprocated, even though reciprocation is usually deeply desired.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's one of reality's harsh truth. We can't live it the way we want, however, we can live it how it is supposed to be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I had a tail like a dog, it'd be probably making a buzzing sound from shaking so quickly with hidden joy.  "ah. lucky am I, that am not a dog." I thought to myself with relief. Thinking that, I was amazed at myself for being such an idiot.  Even so, the road to reality never seemed to be a satisfying one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From the very beginning, she was somewhat different from the other girls. I started liking her from the day of our third year in highschool, and wanted to study more with her. Even with this slacker career, I somehow managed to cope up with our hard lessons the previous weeks. Even then, I liked her more whenever I see her figure. It was scary, and every day was filled with anguish. But being happy every time our eyes meet, was something about myself I couldn't do anything about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She would sometimes think of other things when in classes. During those times, I wished that I was the one that she thinks about. For some reason, I kept thinking that every time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The time I went online in my YM tonight, the inside of my chest started to pain somewhat. She's kind. At times, it was likely that she's going to cry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A journey so dark and lonely as to be beyond all imagination. To exist purely in darkness, without even meeting a single hydrogen atom by chance. To absolutely and wholeheartedly believe that somewhere in the abyss, you are getting closer to the secrets of the universe. In that manner, where are we headed towards? How far will we go?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When did I start typing drafts that are never posted? To desperately and blindly stretch out our hands towards the heavens, to have thoughts that we couldn't even want to imagine. and to fix our eyes on something in the darkness of the far reaches of space. Even if only a little. I've come to realize, why she seemed so different from the other girls. And at the same time, I also came to the full understanding that she, would never look at me. That's why, I did not say anything to her related on these unrequited feelings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although she's kind, very kind, but, she has always, been looking at something far beyond. Far higher than me. I could never give which she desires. Even so, even so, I'm sure that even when tomorrow comes, or the day after, or thereafter, I will still be helplessly like her so much. Thinking only about her, with these thoughts, I'll end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Waa. Imma opt for LiveJournal. My blog has turned into a chain of short essays. XD&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, am off. My hands are tired. Goodnight.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8371340682848504899-7831342182110063858?l=4yearspersecond.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4yearspersecond.blogspot.com/feeds/7831342182110063858/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8371340682848504899&amp;postID=7831342182110063858' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8371340682848504899/posts/default/7831342182110063858'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8371340682848504899/posts/default/7831342182110063858'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4yearspersecond.blogspot.com/2008/07/reality-was-never-so-sweet.html' title='Reality was never so sweet.'/><author><name>I am Luigi.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04715540877960655594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371340682848504899.post-2820155357423759576</id><published>2008-07-10T04:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-11T05:06:40.019-07:00</updated><title type='text'>In the end, it's between you and me.</title><content type='html'>Statament of the problem. The reason why I went early to SOILS today with Mark Justin Segundo. We arrived there shortly from school. 'Twas a government office. We went there 3 times already, the last one on Wednesday, hoping for an improvement on our titles. We waited. But, as the personnel came out, I tried to consult them regarding my title. But, as I heard their response, my heart sank. They could offer me no help. My fault, I must go to DOST instead of SOILS.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went home early. Around 4.30. I walked along the road, waiting for something to ride on. One by one, tricycle/sikad drivers refused[Fck, was it considered a long distance from the public market to KCC?!].  The time I took to ride one was unbelievably long. As I travelled, I looked out of the window, the busy, dry and longing road. The flowing away of time, the painful hunger. All these things gradually tore down my heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometime ago, on a certain day, a private message came. The fact that I couldn't even offer her a single word of kindness, even though she was beset by a far greater sadness than I was. Something that am very ashamed of. Her kind PM came 5 weeks after the start of class. During the 3rd day of that week. I remember everything she wrote in that PM. a day and a half before today, an ordinary date.  I wrote a draft in my pc a letter that am supposed to rewrite and give to her in person. The things I couldn't tell her, the things I wanted to hear. In truth, I had a lot of them. But, in any case, I have to forge forward where should I live. For some reason, the "her" I imagine from those PMs were always alone. Just like that, our conversation ended up. Speechless, nothing to say for nearly an hour. Every minute felt like a lifetime. Time, clearly as if it had a malicious intent, slowly passed away through me. I clenched my fist. Keeping myself  from crying from that conversation was the only thing I could do. I wish, she could just recognize the stillness, and forget about me. I just wished, that all of those didn't actually happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In that moment, the dwelling place of eternity, of souls, became clear to me. It was as if I understood everything that happened for the past 14 years. And the time, which was about to come. I became, unbearably sad. Her warmth, her spirit. Where should I put them? How should I treat them? That was something, I didn't know. That we could not be together forever after 4 years, was a fact I clearly grasped. The vast lives we had ahead of us, the boundless amount of time which laid unavoidably stretched out in front of us. But, the anxieties which I had caught sight of soon melted away. And, after that, her cheerful face remained. That night, I stayed up late. Coping up to my slow internets, we talked along the night. Before I knew it, I felt asleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day, I came back to my normal life. I rode the jeep which had started  running again. Here, I face again new trials that are about to happen in me. I didn't tell her last night, the post I lost, which was supposed to be given to her. It seemed as though everything in the world has changed. I strongly wished for the happiness to cheer her on. Just thinking as that, just always, I continued watching the scenery outside the window.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With those thoughts, I had enough of recollecting. XD.&lt;br /&gt;That's all for tonight. Goodnight.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8371340682848504899-2820155357423759576?l=4yearspersecond.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4yearspersecond.blogspot.com/feeds/2820155357423759576/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8371340682848504899&amp;postID=2820155357423759576' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8371340682848504899/posts/default/2820155357423759576'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8371340682848504899/posts/default/2820155357423759576'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4yearspersecond.blogspot.com/2008/07/in-end-its-between-you-and-me.html' title='In the end, it&apos;s between you and me.'/><author><name>I am Luigi.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04715540877960655594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371340682848504899.post-1854731021302465610</id><published>2008-07-09T06:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-09T06:42:00.544-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I want to wipe her tears away.</title><content type='html'>There is this girl, from my class. Behind her smiles, there are true sorrows behind them.[Hindi si kakai, precaution lang sa mga nagbabasa, ayaw ko masira blog ko. =')) ] Yes, I saw right through her sincere eyes. It wasn't planned though, but as our eyes met, I've seen through it, the lies she had been formulating since then. This is a common problem, that we humans encounter. We are not perfect, and, human organisms lie. I may not know the earnest reason, but, I just felt like it, the image of wiping her tears away. It may sound dramatic, but, this was the main reason why I wrote this post, to lest not forget the ideas once I thought. As I forge forward, without any second thoughts, someday, that she may give her tears away, and reveal her true smiles again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't PM me for who this girl is. I do not know. XD.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So long. I may not post again tomorrow, or the next day after tomorrow, or next week. I do not know. I just write here in my blog when I feel to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Goodnight.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8371340682848504899-1854731021302465610?l=4yearspersecond.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4yearspersecond.blogspot.com/feeds/1854731021302465610/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8371340682848504899&amp;postID=1854731021302465610' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8371340682848504899/posts/default/1854731021302465610'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8371340682848504899/posts/default/1854731021302465610'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4yearspersecond.blogspot.com/2008/07/i-want-to-wipe-her-tears-away.html' title='I want to wipe her tears away.'/><author><name>I am Luigi.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04715540877960655594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371340682848504899.post-6758213483289247660</id><published>2008-07-06T04:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-06T05:17:10.457-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Yuz. My first post in my blog. XD</title><content type='html'>First of all, thanks to Vertigo(OuterHeaven, Guild Member;FlyffPH) for introducing me to this blog. Uhh. This post was actually created, because, technically speaking, I can't create a blog without a content. This post, serves as my first post in my blog(my first one), and a test on how my blog looks when there is a content to read on. XD&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's start a topic, a common topic where one must introduce when he/she is new in that field. As a precaution, am sorry for my wrong grammars/spellings(if there is any), for my skills in Communication Arts is an autofail. XD. Anyways, why "A Lapse in Reality"? I actually thought of this, for I wanted every moment of our lives to be lived on properly, without any regrets. But, this particular reason cannot be validated. Why? It's because in reality, we already have done the deed without doing anything to change it. That's one of the reasons why I created a blog, to have something to write on, express my hidden thoughts and words. This blog,yes, is something to write on. At the very least, I could express my reflections on a particular event, do something regarding on the event by rewritting the series of events/thoughts/ideas. I can integrate my disorganized thoughts here. This serves as my informal journal. Informal, because, in the journals I've viewed, you're required to write on it everyday. But, at this blog, I can write anytime when I want, when I feel to. Back to the topic. Lapses in reality, a way to look back on our ideas. Thoughts. Words.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another thing. The link title. Why 4 years per second? Yes, you've read right. 4 years per second. At the first glance, it may seem foolish. How can 4 years can be fitted in a second? It actually crosses the border on logical reasoning. 4 years per second. I wrote that particular title, not just for looks, but with a deep reason. Time flies so fast. So fast, that we didn't actually felt that we're already in our current state, with the thoughts of "I should have  done this when I had the chance" or, "Wha-, what am I now? I just didn't realized that I am in my current state, unaware of the fast revolving time". These thoughts, simply show on how time flies so fast, thus, making us establish an unawareness within us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think, I wrote enough. XD. I still have to catch some sleep. Goodnight.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8371340682848504899-6758213483289247660?l=4yearspersecond.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4yearspersecond.blogspot.com/feeds/6758213483289247660/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8371340682848504899&amp;postID=6758213483289247660' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8371340682848504899/posts/default/6758213483289247660'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8371340682848504899/posts/default/6758213483289247660'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4yearspersecond.blogspot.com/2008/07/yuz-my-first-post-in-my-blog-xd.html' title='Yuz. My first post in my blog. XD'/><author><name>I am Luigi.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04715540877960655594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry></feed>
