volcanoes melt me down

you spend the entire evening, convincing yourself you don't want to be with him. you go to clubs, to bars, to friends places. nothing distracts you enough. you give in and go to his place. walk into his room; he looks adorable, sleeping. you wake him up and put on the cd you bought for him. damien rice's voice floods the room; he sings "i can't take my eyes off of you" and you avoid looking at him. you don't want him to think you're getting romantic here.

you spend the next two hours talking...you can't even remember about what, anymore. perfection. he said there was no such thing or that it was unattainable. you had disagreed. you said that we all experienced moments which were perfect. where nothing was lacking. and THAT was perfection. no one had said that it was meant to be eternal or everlasting. but it was there, nonetheless.

you talk about masks - we all wear one. you wonder what lies underneath, what is the real YOU or him? he says that we're a collection of our masks. underneath lies only our soul, perhaps. you wonder why we have so much faith in our judgments, what makes us think that the mask chosen for a certain occasion is the one that would work best. what if your own mask of the cold, unemotional bitch was the wrong one to wear. what if you took it off? or replaced it with another one? would it work just as well? would it be better or worse?

you fall off to sleep...each time you open your eyes, he's looking at you and he kisses you and tells you that you're beautiful. you smile sleepily...and feel like asking him whether he agreed that this was perfection? you hold that thought back and drift off to sleep. it's safer.