tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-359891782011-04-22T04:46:33.860+08:00this is personalayyubnoreply@blogger.comBlogger51100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35989178.post-26185688658052222642009-01-12T10:49:00.004+08:002009-01-12T10:57:18.166+08:00<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">I went on a first date last weekend. It was so-so. I brought her chocolates. We went for dinner and there were lots of catching up done. See, I was in love with her long ago. But then, things went sour and we went on our separate lives. My feelings towards her slowly dies. Suddenly there was a chance for a fresh start. Two well acquainted persons acting as total strangers going out on a "first" date.<br /><br />Well, let's wait if there's a second date.</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35989178-2618568865805222264?l=4yyub.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>ayyubnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35989178.post-30963870009942931242008-08-22T09:23:00.000+08:002008-08-22T09:26:55.927+08:00<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Been the same, been the same<br />It has always been the same<br /><br />The pathways that I’ve chosen for my romantic journeys have always been foggy. Though I haven’t had the chance to ever reach the destinations intended, it is in the mist that I take pleasure in. But, like all journeys in the fog, I always hit a wall. Hard.<br /></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35989178-3096387000994293124?l=4yyub.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>ayyubnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35989178.post-4221167006010433372008-02-20T17:36:00.003+08:002008-02-20T17:57:21.861+08:00<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">I took the drive. The drive along the dark and winding road. Just to be with you. Not as a friend, but as a man in love. I was there with you. Maybe for a while. But hopefully it was worth your while. I took the drive back. Another drive along the dark and winding road. To be in bed. Just to be awaken by the thoughts of you.</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35989178-422116700601043337?l=4yyub.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>ayyubnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35989178.post-22066144906781774322008-02-10T19:08:00.001+08:002008-08-22T09:45:22.824+08:00<div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">I’ve always wanted to watch you sleep. Many times have I imagined in my dreams, to watch your closed eyes, to watch your subtle lips, to move back the strand of hair that covers your face, to watch you sleep. A pinnacle of my desire.<br /><br />I had a one time chance to do all those but decided not to. If I did, I wouldn’t have anything else to look forward to.<br /><br />Because I know, I just know. I can feel the reluctance. But I understand.</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35989178-2206614490678177432?l=4yyub.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>ayyubnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35989178.post-1160777267426559612006-10-14T06:05:00.000+08:002006-10-14T06:10:39.360+08:00<div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Transmission was hard. Too hard to digest. The simplest of things but it doesn’t comply with my idea of a good read. The more I read, the thicker the pages. I started writing again. I kept telling myself I was bored. In truth I was missing something. Something that I would rather not find in someone else. God, I missed you.<br /><br />Guess I’m back in the 101 trying to figure out how to display, <em>Hello World!</em></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35989178-116077726742655961?l=4yyub.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>ayyubnoreply@blogger.com0