climbing . clouds . downwards

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07: the recluse

. h e r .

See that girl there, in the corner, sitting all by herself? The one with the lowered head, gaze averted, never meeting your eyes?

But she's not a girl anymore...

See the person on the bench during the breaks, scribbling faithfully in her thick sketchbook? The one who draws and writes so distractedly, with such fervor, you'd think her life depends on it. When actually... the person couldn't care less about the stupid scribbles.

But said person ain't a person anymore...

See the shadow gliding across the rooftop with dead enthusiasm, barely flickering in the too-bright day? The shadow that, soon enough, will be a dead weight, after stepping over the air. Because even shadows fall.

But shadows die in the light eventually...

See the girl? That's me. See the person? That's me. See that shadow? That's me.

. h i m .

There's a girl I have a crush on. I'm not even sure whether it's a crush or not, I've rarely been in love. Mayube it's just an infatuation. But I can't help it. I love watching her.

She looks so sad, quietly busying herself in the corner, with a book or just empty-handedly listening to her mp3 player, spacing out. I rarely see her eyes. You'd be surprised. But I think she looks so beautiful. We've never spoken to each other, but it feels like I've known her forever. All the little gestures... expressions, poses, tiques, small habits. It's surprising how many you notice about someone when you shut your mouth and open your eyes.

So sad, and those are the only words I can think of when I look at her. Her long dark hair covers her head entirely, trapping her face in soft wavy locks.

Me? What about me? I wish I could reach out, just for once, with uttermost confidence. Reach out and tuck those hair strands, all of them, one by one, behind her ears, and raise her chin and let her speak to me.

Or when I see her on the bench, doodling in that legendary sketchbook she carries around faithfully like a kid carries a teddybear... she looks so intent on expressing whatever idea she has in mind, but I think it's just a facade. Day by day, the same sight. Nobody notices, but I do. Beneath all those concentrated expressions that pass over her face, there's also utter detachment. Disconnected, bored, tired, sick.

And in the end... I see her on the school's rooftop, silently seated on the edge. I see her shadow, and it's long and contorted, but it's a part of her and I accept that. Because as I stand before hers, mine follows behind me. And I step into her shadow that follows her, and grab her before she leaps.

"There's always someone who cares. It just depends on whether you want to know or not."

It might just save lives.

She looks up at me, completely struck and surprised. "I... do." She says in a strange tone, looking confused. But her eyes understood.

"Good. 'Cause I care."

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