<?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-3113597563033743551</id><updated>2011-09-15T06:45:31.914-07:00</updated><title type='text'>occasional writer?</title><subtitle type='html'>occasional inspiration? short stories. short scenes.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>shans(:</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01467578978107397098</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_iGyyboUe6Mk/R7A6q3QwujI/AAAAAAAAA5I/nALISSKYZcM/S220/P1060234.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>22</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113597563033743551.post-8899306625922036553</id><published>2011-05-17T10:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-17T11:13:51.554-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Just that simple.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;He smiled and nodded his head in acknowledgement before turning his attention back to the discussion. Guess it will be another long wait for her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;She walked passed empty tables and into his office, found a place to put the wet umbrella and stood at the window. The swish-swishing of cars on the roads, the occasional honks from drivers and pedestrian scurrying on the street, trying to stay as dry as possible.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;"I'm almost done. Just give me awhile more!" His voice was a sharp contrast to the silence causing her to jump. He rummaged through his desk, found what he was looking for and went over to give her a peck on the forehead. "Be right back," he whispered before dashing out.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Sigh. She sat down on his chair and looked at the clock. 7.15pm. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;--&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;"And that's all for today,"he raised his arms and plonked onto the chair. Chairs screeched on the floor as everyone rushed to leave the meeting room. Brushing a hand through his hair, he went through the notes from the meeting again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;As the last light in the hallway went off, he looked up and saw that it was actually 9pm. Shucks! He grabbed his stuff and ran to his office. She must be furious! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;"I'm sor..." before he could finish his sentence, he saw her snuggled and asleep on that tiny sofa in the corner of his office. She has tidied up his desk in boredom. On half-played game of Solitaire on the computer. Her phone on the floor beside her. Must have dropped off when she fell asleep.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;She must be exhausted. From the messages she sent him that day, it sounds like she had a tough day at work.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Deciding that work can wait, he went over to switch off his desk lamp. Gently, he scooped her up and carried her to the car. The whole time being careful, not wanting to wake her up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;[going nowwhere]&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&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/3113597563033743551-8899306625922036553?l=print-scene.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/feeds/8899306625922036553/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3113597563033743551&amp;postID=8899306625922036553' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/8899306625922036553'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/8899306625922036553'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/2011/05/just-that-simple.html' title='Just that simple.'/><author><name>shans(:</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01467578978107397098</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_iGyyboUe6Mk/R7A6q3QwujI/AAAAAAAAA5I/nALISSKYZcM/S220/P1060234.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113597563033743551.post-3266056151198506716</id><published>2011-04-15T11:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-15T12:02:05.877-07:00</updated><title type='text'>out we come.</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;Are you coming? It's getting late. &lt;/i&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Throwing the phone back onto the bedside table, she stared into the darkness. He was supposed to be here by 11pm! It's 2am now. Never quite understand why she is trying so hard at this relationship, should have just let it go. Frustrated, she threw her arms over her head and stared at the ceiling.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The phone lit up and vibrated, "&lt;i&gt;I'm 2 blocks away. Practice ended late and there's reporters everywhere. See you at the same place?" &lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yeah, yeah. What's new? That's always his reasons. At first, it was okay. Now, it's frustrating. She's always waiting for him. She pulled a comb through her hair and sneaked out of her house. He never come to fetch her. She has to make her own way to the park 5 blocks away. Even at 2am in the morning.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;-&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She walked quietly over to him and sat next to him on the park bench, not wanting to be the first one to speak. She's angry. Angry for having to wait on him. Fed up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"I can't stay long. Practice starts at 6am tomorrow," he said.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Right. Okay then. Bye." she barked back and stood up to walk away. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He grabbed her arms, "What's wrong?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She glared at him and tears started welling up in her eyes. She don't think she wants to do this anymore. Not being able to text him, not being able to go to the movies with him, not being able to take photos together, not being able to hug him. Nothing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Instead, loads of waiting. Loads of pretending that he is single. Loads of short meet-ups. He looked around to check for reporters before reaching out reluctantly to tuck a strand of hair behind her ears.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"I can't do this anymore. I don't want to worry about your manager finding out about us or worry about reporters or your fans getting upset. Or pretending that I don't know you. I want to text you when I want to. I want to hold your hands and take long strolls. Go to the cinema. Cuddle up next to you. I can't. I don't even know where you live now. It's like I don't even know you anymore," she cried.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A night runner ran past and he quickly turned around, keeping his head low. She took this opportunity and walked away. He won't come after her. But this time, she was wrong. He did. He took her hands and dragged her to his car. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;They drove in silence and stopped in front of a house. He got down and opened the door of the car for her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;'This is where I live with the rest of the boys," he told her fiercely before reaching out to unhook the seat belt. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;With a firm grip on her hand, he brought her into the house. Walked passed his groupmates and up the stairs. He opened a door and there was his manager. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As his manager looked up, he pulled her towards him and gave her a brief peck on the lips. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Sir, this is my girlfriend. Please let the media know that I like her and plan to get her to move in." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3113597563033743551-3266056151198506716?l=print-scene.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/feeds/3266056151198506716/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3113597563033743551&amp;postID=3266056151198506716' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/3266056151198506716'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/3266056151198506716'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/2011/04/out-we-come.html' title='out we come.'/><author><name>shans(:</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01467578978107397098</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_iGyyboUe6Mk/R7A6q3QwujI/AAAAAAAAA5I/nALISSKYZcM/S220/P1060234.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113597563033743551.post-2495687162422906699</id><published>2010-12-18T13:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-18T13:39:05.771-08:00</updated><title type='text'>something missing.</title><content type='html'>This feeling. Like I am forgetting something. Not like a book or anything tangible. A person. A feeling.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This feeling. It was there one day. Just appeared. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When a certain song comes on. When the breeze is right. When I walk by certain places. A smile will creep onto my face unconsciously. I don't why I smiled. But I know they are associated with happy memories. With that fuzzy feeling people feel when they are happy. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I tried telling K about it but he just gets angry and walks away. Like he is afraid that I will remember something.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;-&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"If you want to leave her, leave. Don't visit her at night or leave things for her. You're making it harder than it is," K said and pulled a hand through his hair. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That night when S brought her back, she had scars, bruises and blood was all over her. His kind did it to her. HIS! She was terrified and was screaming from pain. We had to keep her unconscious. Make her sleep. When the injuries were gone, she was still frightened. Always screaming in her sleep, locking herself in the room. Not letting anyone near her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Gone was the cheery girl. Gone. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That's when they decided that it was best for S to leave. To make her forget and to leave. To protect her. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"I can't. She can't take care of herself," S said.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Well, it's time she learn to, isn't it? Leave, S. Leave. If she remembers...I don't even want to think about it."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;[going nowhere again]&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3113597563033743551-2495687162422906699?l=print-scene.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/feeds/2495687162422906699/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3113597563033743551&amp;postID=2495687162422906699' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/2495687162422906699'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/2495687162422906699'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/2010/12/something-missing.html' title='something missing.'/><author><name>shans(:</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01467578978107397098</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_iGyyboUe6Mk/R7A6q3QwujI/AAAAAAAAA5I/nALISSKYZcM/S220/P1060234.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113597563033743551.post-4952396585404816541</id><published>2010-09-09T13:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-09T14:17:52.556-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Been a while since I wrote here. I don't even know if I will ever start writing again.&lt;div&gt;It feels like I have lost that part of me. That part where images will pop into my head.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That part where I still have the energy to link these images together to form a story.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But here's something that did come into my mind while watching a show. A bit rough, but ohwells.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Facing forward, sitting side by side. Shoulders almost touching but not that close.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Our conversation was random and short. Going on and on about the same thing. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Easy company this was. No walls were necessary. No need to feel the need to be upbeat.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Just easy. Comforting. Relaxing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Stretching my arms, I stood up and took in a deep breath. Wrong move! "Ah choo! *HUGE SNEEZE* Crap," I said. He looked up with that semi-amused face and shook his head. I know he is about to tease me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"No! Don't even start! I told you before! I warn people before sneezing! Don't!" I said in an almost whiney voice. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"But..but..Why do you need warn people? It's..." he replied, obviously amused and enjoying my reaction.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We've been through this quite a few times. We know the teasing and "argument" will go nowhere. But it's like a skit that we almost always play out. I know I can just ignore him, but he knows how to poke me. And I CAN'T JUST GIVE UP LIKE THAT!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I got into the animated mode that is pretty rare these days. Explaining my theory and when that failed, teasing him right back. And mid-speech with arms still in the air, a huge huge sneeze came up causing me to bend down.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He laughed and came towards me. I was about to come back with a smart retort but before I can do that, he sneaked a quick peck on my forehead. Shocked, I blinked furiously at him. Okay, this is new. But sweet. New. Weird. But not too bad.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Okay, I need to say something. SAY SOMETHING! This is getting awkward! COME ON!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I punched him on his arms and went, "Watch where you are going! Your lips just touched my forehead. Ewww!" I laughed and skipped away.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&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/3113597563033743551-4952396585404816541?l=print-scene.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/feeds/4952396585404816541/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3113597563033743551&amp;postID=4952396585404816541' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/4952396585404816541'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/4952396585404816541'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/2010/09/been-while-since-i-wrote-here.html' title=''/><author><name>shans(:</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01467578978107397098</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_iGyyboUe6Mk/R7A6q3QwujI/AAAAAAAAA5I/nALISSKYZcM/S220/P1060234.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113597563033743551.post-2971309924343166127</id><published>2010-05-09T15:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-09T15:31:46.481-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Sitting on the garden bench, swaying to the song that only she could hear. She waited patiently for him. The note that she left in his room, her first venture into asking him out. She had always enjoyed his company and vice versa. He is always teasing about them becoming a pair but she always choose to ignore them. Not anymore.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She checked her watch. 30 minutes late. She tugged her hair behind her ears and glanced around. Oh well.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The sky was getting darker by the minute. The fireworks were about to start. Where was he? Could it be that he didn't see the note? No, she saw him read it. She was getting worried. 1 hour late. She stood up and walked around the small garden. Except for a few homeless individuals, no one was around. She sat down on the bench again and waited. Drawing circles on the ground with her feet. Disappointment building up. Maybe she has been mis-reading his actions.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Hey," she heard someone said. Finally! He's here! She glanced up expectantly with a grin on her face. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Oh, hey. What are you doing here?" the smile disappeared as she realized that it was his brother. He has always been kind of a jerk. Always so competitive and rude.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Cotton candy?" he offered and sat down next to her, " I am on my way to the carnival and saw you here waiting. The fireworks is about to start. Want to go catch it together?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She sneaked a peek at him, wondering if he meant what he said. Don't look like it. He is actually smiling and offering her his cotton candy. She checked her watch one last time, took some cotton candy and nodded. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*At the carnival*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As they made their way through the crowd on the bridge, the firework lit up the sky in a burst of colors. She smiled but couldn't help to feel a little sad. She wished he was next to her instead of his brother. If he was here, she would be leaning on his shoulders. He would have stuffed her hands into his coat to keep her warm. And most importantly, he wouldn't be talking like his brother who is going on and on about how he had helped to make this carnival possible. Just shut up already! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As the fireworks came to an end, she saw a familiar figure standing at the end of the bridge. It's him! Did she get the meet-up location wrong? Oh no! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She raised her arms and was about to call out to him when she spotted another person next to him, holding on to his hands. The lady stood on her toes and kissed him before wrapping her arms around him. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She quickly turned away and when his brother saw what she's looking at, he commented, "That's E with his fiancée! What a lucky guy! She is quite a looker!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She nodded and quickly wiped away the tears that was quickly welling up in her eyes. "I've got to go," she mumbled and ran away.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As he watched her retreating back, he pulled out a note that said, "Hey E, meet me at our garden bench @ 6pm! Let's head to the carnival! That's what couples do right?:P" He smirked and crushed that note. It took quite a bit of effort to make sure that his brother didn't get to read his message. Took a little more effort to convince him to go out with his 'fiancée'.  But it was all worth it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;E has everything. Their father's approval. The looks. The brains. And probably the family business. She. She will be the one thing that he cannot have. The ONLY thing. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3113597563033743551-2971309924343166127?l=print-scene.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/feeds/2971309924343166127/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3113597563033743551&amp;postID=2971309924343166127' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/2971309924343166127'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/2971309924343166127'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/2010/05/sitting-on-garden-bench-swaying-to-song.html' title=''/><author><name>shans(:</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01467578978107397098</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_iGyyboUe6Mk/R7A6q3QwujI/AAAAAAAAA5I/nALISSKYZcM/S220/P1060234.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113597563033743551.post-8730375006191391299</id><published>2009-09-21T10:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-21T11:01:51.336-07:00</updated><title type='text'>no more.</title><content type='html'>The video has been on loop since she came to show it to her. She switched off the TV and turned to grab her bag. She left the keys by the dresser and put on her old tattered sneakers, kicking outside the new ones he bought her. She doesn't want anything to do with him anymore.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She dragged her luggage across the courtyard and headed to the band's rehersal room.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Hey, Mrs Band Leader! Heard you guys got engaged last night!" T yelled as she entered the room. She grimaced. Didn't know what to say. The very thought hurts. The lies that he told. She couldn't believe she didn't know. She never should have let her guard down. Because this is what happen when you did. Choosing emotions over practicality. How stupid.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Hey guys," she gave a weak wave to the rest and head over to G. G was her best friend. The person she ran to when things are bad. When she was confused about her relationship with him. G was the one who looked after her whenever the both of them fought. G was like her brother. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"I'm leaving. Just wanted to say thanks. I'll see you around," she said and leaned forward to hug G who was sitting on the sofa, frowning over some papers. G grabbed her arms as she turned to leave, a look of concern on his face. Tears threatened to escape her eyes. She blinked them away and forced a smile onto her face.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"See you guys around! Jana!" she chirped as happily as she could mustered and ran out of the room. The cab she called for was waiting down the driveway. She grabbed her luggage and walked towards it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;-&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He whistled to himself as he came out of the band's manager room. The tour details are confirmed! She accepeted his proposal. They are getting married! Things couldn't get any better. He smiled to himself and walked back to the rehersal room.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Hey, babe!" he yelled as he spotted her coming out of the room. She ignored him and grabbed her luggage. Wait, luggage? Where is she going? He quickened his footsteps and called out to her one last time. When she didn't reply and start to walk even faster, he ran towards her and grabbed her arms.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Where are you going, babe? What's going on?" he asked.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She turned around and the look on her face was one mixed with hurt, anger and hatred. She glared at him and shook his hands off her arms. Turned around and continued walking.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She knows. She knows everything. How or why, he didn't know. He panicked. He hurt her. Just when she trusted him. She found out and she's leaving. She's leaving. For good. Forever. He reached out to grabbed her arms again but this time, only got her left hand.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Don't go. I'm sorry. It was just that once. Just that once. I'm sorry,"he begged and hoped that she will listen to him. He couldn't lose her. Not after everything they have been through.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Once? Don't lie. I saw it with my own eyes. Many times. What was that you called me? Unstable. Ugly. Frigid. Let go of me." she whispered fiercely. Not turning around to face him. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"They are lies. She made me say them. Don't go, please. I love you!" he muttered, holding on to her hands tightly.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Love?" she turned around and looked at him. "Obviously, that's not enough to stop you from sleeping with her. From lying. From everything." Once again, she shook his hands off and this time, she took out the ring he gave her last night. The very first time they had made love and she told him that she loved him. She took out the ring and threw it at him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"I don't need your lies," she said as her voice began to break. Memories of last night, of their time together flooding into her head, mixed with images from the video. The video of him cheating. She ran to the cab and told the driver to start driving. She has no idea where she is going but first, she needs to get out from here. To a place where she can cry.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;-&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He bent down to pick up the ring and held it tightly in his hands. So tightly that his fingers cut into his palms, drawing blood. He didn't care.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He walked to their room. No, it's his room now. The place emptied of all her belongings. Of all the cozy little things she likes. Photoframes were emptied of pictures. The shoes he bought her, lying on the floor. And right in the middle of the coffee table, a box filled with pictures. Pictures that they took together. Pictures that are cut up. With her removed. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3113597563033743551-8730375006191391299?l=print-scene.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/feeds/8730375006191391299/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3113597563033743551&amp;postID=8730375006191391299' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/8730375006191391299'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/8730375006191391299'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/2009/09/no-more.html' title='no more.'/><author><name>shans(:</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01467578978107397098</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_iGyyboUe6Mk/R7A6q3QwujI/AAAAAAAAA5I/nALISSKYZcM/S220/P1060234.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113597563033743551.post-3616870463648713642</id><published>2009-08-16T09:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-16T09:56:00.009-07:00</updated><title type='text'>too much.</title><content type='html'>sometimes, it gets a bit too much. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;the constant search for something you like to do. the constant need to have a reason for everything. it hurts a little too much when your good intentions, turned out to harm another. to learn that the people whom you trust the most are taking you for granted. that there is no way out of your situation, yet you do not wish to conform. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;there comes a time when the cognitive dissonance becomes too much. and after prolonged period of ranting to friends and anyone who would want to listen, you start keeping things to yourself. you really don't wish to talk about it. you keep everything to yourself, hoping and praying that perhaps, you might find a solution. you start doing circles in your head.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;and that's where she find herself these days. growing quiet. growing silent. thinking of giving up the very thing that she loves to do the most - photography. why? because everytime after she shoots, the problems will flood back. and the bite is 10 times more than before.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;she sits at the bus stop, watching as the last bus drove pass her. it's way past the time for her to go home. a 30-minute walk home, just turned into a 2-hour walk. the songs her mp3 is playing is just background music. kinda like those music they play in the shopping malls. random noise.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;night joggers ran passed her. many turned and took a second look at her. she shouldn't be out this late. at this deserted stretch of road with construction going on.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;but she couldn't bring herself to leave the bus stop. she loved the way her hair flies when the cars zoom by. loved the flashing lights of the cars. the noise the cars made when they zoom. love to imagine a story for each car. it was a temporary distraction. to distract herself from her thoughts.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;and at this bus stop, she's nobody. not someone whom everyone counts on to be responsible. not the middle child that has to deal with everything. not the girl who is always expected to be happy. not the girl whom has to keep her emotions in-check. she's nothing. no strings, no responsibilities. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;her handphone rang for the umpteenth times. not the person she hoped that will call. she looked at the number and for the umpteenth times, press the off button and threw it back into the bag.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;she stares off into the distance, looking at the fresh wave of cars that's going to come when the traffic lights turn green. perhaps, maybe. this wave of cars will bring her troubles away. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&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/3113597563033743551-3616870463648713642?l=print-scene.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/feeds/3616870463648713642/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3113597563033743551&amp;postID=3616870463648713642' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/3616870463648713642'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/3616870463648713642'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/2009/08/too-much.html' title='too much.'/><author><name>shans(:</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01467578978107397098</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_iGyyboUe6Mk/R7A6q3QwujI/AAAAAAAAA5I/nALISSKYZcM/S220/P1060234.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113597563033743551.post-2209919412706963637</id><published>2009-06-16T00:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-16T01:01:23.907-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Just that paragraph.</title><content type='html'>She pushed back her chair, stood up and walked quickly out of the room. Quick enough to get her out of there but not enough to draw attention. The wind hitting her legs and pushing her hair back. Those used to make her feel confident. But not anymore. Not when she was trying not to let the tears fall. So many impressions to manage. She couldn't take it anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He stood up and walked over to where her date was sitting. "Go after her. Whatever you just did or said, it won't matter after that. Just go, " he whispered urgently in his ears while smiling at the rest of the guests at the table.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The date shook his head and waved him away. He stood there shocked. No idea what to do next.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(whatever. time to switch off the lappy and read.)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3113597563033743551-2209919412706963637?l=print-scene.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/feeds/2209919412706963637/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3113597563033743551&amp;postID=2209919412706963637' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/2209919412706963637'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/2209919412706963637'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/2009/06/she-pushed-back-her-chair-stood-up-and.html' title='Just that paragraph.'/><author><name>shans(:</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01467578978107397098</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_iGyyboUe6Mk/R7A6q3QwujI/AAAAAAAAA5I/nALISSKYZcM/S220/P1060234.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113597563033743551.post-6169896641105863945</id><published>2009-05-21T11:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-21T11:28:53.725-07:00</updated><title type='text'>the laughing care.</title><content type='html'>"Stop it!" I yelled and reached my hands out to swipe him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He took a step back, just out of my reach and continued to shrug his shoulders and turn his head from side to side. The very actions that I cannot do right now. URGH!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I grabbed the nearest book and threw it at him. Wrong move! I yelped in pain as he came running towards me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You okay?" he asked as he rubs at my shoulders, attempting to ease that "bundle" of muscles and the pain. His attempt to hide his laughters failing. Biting his lips to kill the smile that is threatening to creep onto his face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I pouted at him and that made both of us burst out laughing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Silly girl," he whispered and pecked me quickly on the lips. As the laughter died down, we sat there looking at each other. His hands cupping my face, looking at me. His expression unreadable. The silence was nice but at the same time, I'm afraid of what's going through his mind. Afraid that those thoughts will bring an end to things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You do know that I can't move my head so you are going to lose in this little staring 'competition' that we have going on right?" I joked and stick my tongue out, poking his cheeks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That disrupted his thoughts and a huge grin appeared on his face. "Whatever! You still can't do this!" he teased as he got off the sofa and started running in circles around me, dodging left and right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I glared at him and growled before collapsing in laughter on sofa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is just what I need. Someone to laugh at my neck with me. To show concern and yet let me know that, "hey, it's no big deal". the laughing kind of care. it's that kind of care that got me through my leg cramps. and it's that kind of care that will get me through this neckless period.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3113597563033743551-6169896641105863945?l=print-scene.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/feeds/6169896641105863945/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3113597563033743551&amp;postID=6169896641105863945' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/6169896641105863945'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/6169896641105863945'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/2009/05/laughing-care.html' title='the laughing care.'/><author><name>shans(:</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01467578978107397098</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_iGyyboUe6Mk/R7A6q3QwujI/AAAAAAAAA5I/nALISSKYZcM/S220/P1060234.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113597563033743551.post-8912976545068853925</id><published>2009-05-17T09:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-17T10:07:11.047-07:00</updated><title type='text'>the last summer (of you and me).</title><content type='html'>(the title has nothing to do with the post)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As she lay her head on his chest, he wrapped his arms tighter around her and tugged her feet under his. The familiarity of her smell - a mix of baby shampoo and soap. Her hands and feet are cold like always.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He pulled the covers tighter around them, making sure that her entire body was covered. It doesn't matter that means he is half-covered and that his nose will start running soon. As long as she's warm, no leg cramps will hit her and maybe finally she can sleep properly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her breathing slowed to a steady pace, the pounding of her heart is now a gentle thumped. She's asleep. He held her hand up gently to the light and see the ring sparkled. The ring she initially refused to wear. The ring that showed that she is beginning to trust him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was elated when he saw it on her hand. But as what he did the previous evening when they fought flooded back. All he can do is pray. Pray that what he had done will be kept a secret. If not, he will end up hurting her. The very thing he wants to protect.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She rolled off her chest and shifted to her side of the bed, giving him room to stretch. But tonight, he don't want that space between them. He moved closer to her and spooned.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3113597563033743551-8912976545068853925?l=print-scene.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/feeds/8912976545068853925/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3113597563033743551&amp;postID=8912976545068853925' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/8912976545068853925'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/8912976545068853925'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/2009/05/last-summer-of-you-and-me.html' title='the last summer (of you and me).'/><author><name>shans(:</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01467578978107397098</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_iGyyboUe6Mk/R7A6q3QwujI/AAAAAAAAA5I/nALISSKYZcM/S220/P1060234.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113597563033743551.post-1442130852064889582</id><published>2009-03-30T10:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-30T10:16:52.432-07:00</updated><title type='text'>a blue beautiful day.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;sometimes, the hustle and bustle of life gets too much. everyone seems to be going after something. but what? a job,  a career, wealth? do they really know where they are heading? why they are doing it? i don't think so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but crowd effect occurs. because everyone around me seems to chasing after something, i joined in the race. but self-deception doesn't work for me. i got tired.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You okay?" he turned his head and asked. Stretching himself and sitting up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I nodded and forced a little smile before turning my attention back to the clouds that are passing by. A rare sunny day. A rare day that I have with him. Running errands with him, just sitting around and not feeling the urge to speak.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I may appear noisy, chatty, outgoing and airhead-ish. But sometimes, I just feel the need to be quiet. Not alone though. I would like to have someone beside me while I go wandering with my thoughts. Occassionally throwing out random comments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's why I am glad that I found him. He is the stand-in while she's overseas. I miss her!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Look! A running rabbit!" I exclaimed and pointed to a cloud. He turned and gave me a funny look. I stretched out my legs and kicked him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know he finds it totally pointless and a waste of time to just sit here and stone. Yet, he knows that it will help me get over my lousy mood, so yeah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- random picture that popped into my head. even though the first 2 paragraphs reflect actual feelings -&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/3113597563033743551-1442130852064889582?l=print-scene.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/feeds/1442130852064889582/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3113597563033743551&amp;postID=1442130852064889582' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/1442130852064889582'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/1442130852064889582'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/2009/03/blue-beautiful-day.html' title='a blue beautiful day.'/><author><name>shans(:</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01467578978107397098</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_iGyyboUe6Mk/R7A6q3QwujI/AAAAAAAAA5I/nALISSKYZcM/S220/P1060234.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113597563033743551.post-6891872970211653518</id><published>2009-02-06T11:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-06T11:49:40.424-08:00</updated><title type='text'>been a while.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;"Hey," she said as she climbed into the car. The awkwardness creeping in, surrounding them. The anticipation, the knowledge that something will happen later. It hanged in the air.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She started singing. It seemed to be the only common ground. She didn't know what to say. Scared of saying something stupid. And he started whistling. No conversation. But yet, the awkwardness is ebbing away. His hand slipped over and grabbed hers. She smiled.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so the game begins. This awkwardness that will be missed. Because it reeks of excitement. Because it's forbidden. This anticipation that will be missed. Because once it's gone, it's just plain old routine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" &gt;caught up in the madness to grow up. everyone seems to moving at an amazing speed. getting jobs and moving on. i think i feel safe when i am with you. but thats not right either. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3113597563033743551-6891872970211653518?l=print-scene.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/feeds/6891872970211653518/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3113597563033743551&amp;postID=6891872970211653518' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/6891872970211653518'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/6891872970211653518'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/2009/02/been-while.html' title='been a while.'/><author><name>shans(:</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01467578978107397098</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_iGyyboUe6Mk/R7A6q3QwujI/AAAAAAAAA5I/nALISSKYZcM/S220/P1060234.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113597563033743551.post-2798594208053921784</id><published>2008-11-22T11:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-22T12:01:48.028-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Giving him up.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;She pretend to be sleeping when he came into the room. The squabble was childish and foolish but she was angry. He climbed into bed and wrapped his arms around her. The familiar pain shot through her. "I'm sorry," he whispered.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;She heard voices outside. Soft mumbling. But they sound urgent and worried. "What time is it?" she wondered as she searched the bedside table for her watch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3am in the morning. Who could be here? She climbed out of bed groggily, stumbling to the door, opening it a little and peeked out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was sitting in the sofa with his face buried in his hands, shoulders slacked. The visitor came over and pat him on the shoulders. As if comforting him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'm just so tired. I don't know what to do anymore. She's tired too. Her temper is getting worse. It's just stupid. Every time I touch her, I know it hurts. I don't know what to do anymore," he told the visitor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He looked up and she quickly closed the door. Afraid of being spotted. Was that tears in his eyes? At that moment, she made up her mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;"Wake up, babe. We've got to go. They're here!" he shook her urgently.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her eyes sprang open and she jumped out of bed. Worried.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Don't worry, we'll be okay," he assured her, forcing a smile. She nodded without saying a word and held on tight to his hands as they started running. As fast as their legs could run. As far away from their hunters as possible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;"Stay here. I'll be back! There's just a few of them. I can handle it," he helped her hide behind several large boulders and ran away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She didn't stay. She crept out and followed him to the forest clearing. Hiding in the shadows of the trees, watching him fight. Clearly outnumbered. He was determined but it was no use. She knew what she had to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"STOP IT! STOP! HEY!" she yelled as she ran out into the clearing. The fight stopped. Everyone was shocked. Not expecting this. He was looking at her, confused.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, well. Who do we have here?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She turned and there he was. His voice was smooth, his skin beautifully pale. Walking towards her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'll go with you. Just leave him alone. Promise me!" she said, looking at the man. She ignored the protest coming from him. Ignoring his pleas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man came up next to her and wrapped his arms tightly around her waist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Really now, princess? You know what that means, don't you?" he hissed the last part next to her ears. His tongue flickering out like a serpent, licking her ear lobes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She nodded.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was running towards her now. He was yelling for her to run away. Not to give up. But she was determined. The man swept her hair aside and buried his head into her neck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He ran as fast as his legs could carry him. Towards her and that man. No, please. She cannot give up now. He knew she was tired. That she was angry with him. That she was angry with herself. But no, this cannot be happening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was almost there when he saw her body sagged. She was draped over his arms like a rag doll, her hair falling behind her. Blood stained her shirt. Dead. She was dead. He stopped and stared as the man brought his wrist to her mouth and forced something into her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly, her hair turned black. Back to her natural color. Gone were the highlights. Her hair grew longer. Halfway down her back. The length she always wanted but never had the patience to grow them. Her back straightened and she jerked awake. The man laughed and tightened his grip around her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, well. Aren't you a beauty?" the man sneered and forced a kiss. She pushed him away and glared at him. "You'll get used to me soon enough. Come now!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man grabbed her hands and she yelped in pain as his nails dug into her palms. Punishment for pushing him away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before they disappeared, she turned to him. He was still standing at the spot where he stopped. He looked defeated and depressed. But she knows that he will be okay. This is the best. He can stop feeling tired. Stop dealing with her bad temper. Get on with the life that he was supposed to have before he met her. Live.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She smiled at him sadly and waved. Blood tears falling onto her cheeks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3113597563033743551-2798594208053921784?l=print-scene.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/feeds/2798594208053921784/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3113597563033743551&amp;postID=2798594208053921784' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/2798594208053921784'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/2798594208053921784'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/2008/11/giving-him-up.html' title='Giving him up.'/><author><name>shans(:</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01467578978107397098</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_iGyyboUe6Mk/R7A6q3QwujI/AAAAAAAAA5I/nALISSKYZcM/S220/P1060234.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113597563033743551.post-7664570659208376010</id><published>2008-11-18T10:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-18T10:36:31.559-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Pauses.</title><content type='html'>"Why would you marry her when you don't love her?" he yelled at his brother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All the things she did for him. All the time she waited at home for him. Unappreciated. Unnoticed. All he ever does is to yell at her. Criticize her. Making her feel inadequate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If she was his girl, he wouldn't be treating her like that. He'll make her feel like a princess. Protect her from his mother who had been placing tremendous amount of pressure on her. Take care of her. Not like what his brother is doing. No.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He hated his brother for the way he treated her. He didn't understand why she didn't just walk out of the marriage. Because his brother obviously did not love her! But she loved him. All the tears she cried. It just wasn't worth it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His brother turned around and hissed, "Because she's the one thing that you cannot have. You had the looks, the smarts and our father's praises. I had nothing. She's the one thing that you cannot have."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Jealousy? That's it?!" Anger took over him and he grabbed his brother by the collar. "You married her to spite me? Is that it?" He raised his arms, ready to punched his brother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Haa. YES! If you like her so much, then maybe you shouldn't have reject her in the first place. It made everything so much easier. It wasn't much of a challenge or...fun." snorted his brother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Rejected her? She..never..." he stuttered.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, brother. Don't make me sound like some asshole. You weren't much better. You toyed with her feelings and smashed it. She waited so long for you that night. But you never came. Don't blame me for swooping in and charming her away."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(okay, no more mood!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3113597563033743551-7664570659208376010?l=print-scene.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/feeds/7664570659208376010/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3113597563033743551&amp;postID=7664570659208376010' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/7664570659208376010'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/7664570659208376010'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/2008/11/pauses.html' title='Pauses.'/><author><name>shans(:</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01467578978107397098</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_iGyyboUe6Mk/R7A6q3QwujI/AAAAAAAAA5I/nALISSKYZcM/S220/P1060234.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113597563033743551.post-3421530368183458346</id><published>2008-09-16T11:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-16T12:03:10.146-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Teen Fiction?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;It started with me crying on the school steps during the summer holidays. No one was supposed to be there but he was. Him and his dark hair, blue eyes and athletic built came and sat next to me. Offered me a ride home and left me his e-mail address.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;From there, a funny relationship started. We will walk past each other in the hallway without acknowledging each other. Him and his popular clique. Me and myself. In a group discussion, he will try to keep communication with me to a minimal. It's like talking to me will decrease his cool-ness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But online, we will talk to each other once in a blue moon. We will flirt and tease. Saying things that we know that's never going to happen. He got me to do things I would never do. He even persuaded me to go to his house where I ended up parading in my undergarments and pretending I am one of Victoria's Secrets angels. Giving him his personal fashion show. Falling asleep, snuggled up tight and arms draped over each other. A brief peck on the forehead as a morning call.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know it was nothing. I was not in love with him. He was so not the kind of guy I was looking for. But it was nice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started to notice a pattern. We will only talk when he is having a lull in his relationship/social calendar. After a bad break-up or when there's no other girls to go after and trick into bed. That was when he will come to me and start the whole endless game of teasing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've grown used to this funny thing we had. It was nice and it worked for me. Well, at least in the beginning. Gradually, I realized that whhen I needed him for physical comfort or just some teasing fun, he was never there. I don't like that. Because if it's a fling or whatever that we have, it's only one-way. No. That's why I called to ask him to meet me on the steps today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hey," he said and settled next to me on the steps, wrapping me into his embrace. Just because no one was around, it was okay for him to do that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What's up?" he asked and tried to peck me on my lips.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I turned my face at the last minute and the peck went to my cheeks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"This is not working. I...Just leave me alone okay? I like whatever that we had. But if you are just going to treat me like dirt and used me, then I'm not going to be sticking around," I said and stood up to leave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Keep those stuff I gave you. I don't want it back," I hissed before running away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, I am not going to cry. It was a summer thing that had dragged for too long. Just like a plaster that has stayed on for too long. You don't want to remove it because you are so used to seeing it there. Afraid what's underneath. But once you removed it, the sting. And the horror of what's underneath revealed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can see what's underneath now. I am still as messed up as I was when he found me on those steps.&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/3113597563033743551-3421530368183458346?l=print-scene.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/feeds/3421530368183458346/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3113597563033743551&amp;postID=3421530368183458346' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/3421530368183458346'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/3421530368183458346'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/2008/09/teen-fiction.html' title='Teen Fiction?'/><author><name>shans(:</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01467578978107397098</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_iGyyboUe6Mk/R7A6q3QwujI/AAAAAAAAA5I/nALISSKYZcM/S220/P1060234.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113597563033743551.post-4694069835082079548</id><published>2008-08-17T05:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-17T06:35:58.143-07:00</updated><title type='text'>From a dream.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;We finally made it out of the horrible place. Lying under the bed, next to dead bodies. Watching those trolls devour human after human. It was just too horrible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Here. Grab my hand," I reached my hand over the edge and pulled her up. We stood there on top of the hill. Relieved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We paused for a moment to catch our breath. "Come on!" I said excitedly and ran towards the forest, "I think they just won a battle!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't wait to see him. I picked my pace as we reached the edge of the forest. The sound of horse hooves, the jubilant cheers and the shouts of victory!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I see him! There he is! Sitting on top of his horse, at the front of the pack. Next to his father and his brothers. Giving each other a pat on his back. A huge grin plastered on his face. His father, the king, looking at him proudly. A look of approval and love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The same look that is probably on my face right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been ages since I've seen them getting along. A long time since he looked so relaxed. A long time since...Wait. I turned to my companion and told her, "You go ahead. I am heading back home," and walked away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't want to be that person anymore. The one that drove them apart. That caused the rift between them. I turned and started running as tears poured down my face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Take care of yourself. I promised I'll come back when the war ends," he whispered into my ears as he wrapped his arms around my waist, kissed my shoulders and buried his face in my hair. I wrapped my arms around his and watched as the sun began to rise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I won't be there. I can't.&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/3113597563033743551-4694069835082079548?l=print-scene.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/feeds/4694069835082079548/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3113597563033743551&amp;postID=4694069835082079548' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/4694069835082079548'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/4694069835082079548'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/2008/08/from-dream.html' title='From a dream.'/><author><name>shans(:</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01467578978107397098</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_iGyyboUe6Mk/R7A6q3QwujI/AAAAAAAAA5I/nALISSKYZcM/S220/P1060234.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113597563033743551.post-605654605824286265</id><published>2008-08-13T08:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-13T09:17:21.632-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fight.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Broken shards of glasses on the floor. A piece of broken glass stained with blood lay across a picture of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"A week. That was how long it took me to get sick of you!" he yelled at her in anger, sweeping the contents of the table onto the floor. Books, magazines, laptops and their picture. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Crash, crash, crash&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Too tired to fight any longer. Too hurt to yell. Too sick of crying. She stood there and stared at the items on the floor. A look of indifference on her face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He came up to her and grabbed her wrist so tightly that it hurt, a look of maniac anger entered his eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She continued to stared at the items and remained silent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He shoved her onto the floor and stomped out of the house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was 8 hours ago. An hour after they had snuggled up to each other and fell asleep the whole day. An hour after they promised never to fight again. An hour after they took that silly picture and framed it up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That very picture on the floor right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8 hours. She hasn't moved from where he left her. On the floor. Back against the wall. A throbbing wrist.&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/3113597563033743551-605654605824286265?l=print-scene.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/feeds/605654605824286265/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3113597563033743551&amp;postID=605654605824286265' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/605654605824286265'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/605654605824286265'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/2008/08/fight.html' title='Fight.'/><author><name>shans(:</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01467578978107397098</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_iGyyboUe6Mk/R7A6q3QwujI/AAAAAAAAA5I/nALISSKYZcM/S220/P1060234.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113597563033743551.post-1935304781713762741</id><published>2008-07-30T04:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-30T05:37:34.773-07:00</updated><title type='text'>From a dream.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;It was raining. Pouring. But I knew he will be pretty bummed about being sent home. So, here I am. Waiting for his flight to land. Clothes speckled with spots of rain and shivering from the cold air-conditioning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is such a stupid stupid idea. Why am I here? It's not like we are officially going out!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hey! What are you doing here?" I heard someone said and looked up. Oh crap. He is already back and someone is here to pick him up too. Should have known. URGH!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I..I thought I'll come say hi," I mumbled, wrapping my hoodie tighter around me and making for the entrance, embarrassed and angry with myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just as I was about to dash across the streets to the nearest cab-stand, he caught up with me and said, "Here. Take the umbrella. I'll run across and get us a cab. I'll sent you home!" With that, he pulled the hood of his jacket up and ran away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The queue was pretty long and both of us stood there awkwardly in silence. Looking everywhere but at each other. It has always been a fling thing between between us. Now what? By doing sweet things is a huge "violation" of our rule. We agreed to keep things quiet. To pretend that we don't know each other in front of our common friends. Even online.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So...you really came to fetch me?" he asked as we inched forward. I nodded and shrugged. Let's not make a big deal out this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's so sweet! Smile!" he said and put his arms around my neck, wiping out his phone and taking a picture.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hoi! We look terrible! Delete delete!" I protested, trying to reach around him to get the phone. And that's when it happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He pecked me on the lips. A different peck from the thousands of peck that we had before. He pecked me on the lips, smiled at me and held my hands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That will be our first silly picture together," he whispered before I got off the cab.&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/3113597563033743551-1935304781713762741?l=print-scene.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/feeds/1935304781713762741/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3113597563033743551&amp;postID=1935304781713762741' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/1935304781713762741'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/1935304781713762741'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/2008/07/from-dream.html' title='From a dream.'/><author><name>shans(:</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01467578978107397098</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_iGyyboUe6Mk/R7A6q3QwujI/AAAAAAAAA5I/nALISSKYZcM/S220/P1060234.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113597563033743551.post-5436373651380401473</id><published>2008-07-19T10:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-19T12:28:38.786-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Holding on tightly to his hands and watching the cars zoom by beneath us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everything is changing. So fast. So sudden. I could barely keep up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It feels like strangers are surrounding me these days. Strangers who looked like my friends. Who sounded like my friends. But they are different. Unfamiliar. Distant. I'm scared. Everyone's changing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I squeezed his hands and held on tightly. He turned and smiled at me, tapping the tip of my nose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My constant. The only familiar thing in my life. I forced a smile and continued to look at the cars beneath us. Losing myself to those scary thoughts. Holding on to his hands. Afraid that if I ever let go, I'll be consumed by those thoughts. No, that cannot happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hey," he spoke softly as he turned to face me, "It's getting late. I'll send you home, okay?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Disrupted from those thoughts, I looked at him and nodded. There's something in his face, his eyes and his smile. He looked uneasy. Something's not right. Please, don't let him change.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We walked in silence, holding hands. Enjoying the cool breeze and the starry sky. Then, he stopped abruptly and turned to look at me .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I...I..This may not be a good time but..I really like you, D. I don't want to do...this anymore," he blurted out, looking confused, scared and frustrated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I kept quiet. Refusing to look at him. Millions of thoughts flooding in. What, what is it that he wants? No, please.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So what are you suggesting?" I whispered, tears welling up in my eyes as my fear wrapped it's ugly its ugly claws around me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I don't want to be just your friend anymore. Let's start dating because I think I, "he hesitated and held onto my hands tightly, "I..I love you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I swing away his hands and started running. Tears spilling from my eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, even he has changed. Now, he's ruined it. I hate him. I hate my life. I hate it. Just let it end, please.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&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/3113597563033743551-5436373651380401473?l=print-scene.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/feeds/5436373651380401473/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3113597563033743551&amp;postID=5436373651380401473' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/5436373651380401473'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/5436373651380401473'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/2008/07/holding-on-tightly-to-his-hands-and.html' title=''/><author><name>shans(:</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01467578978107397098</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_iGyyboUe6Mk/R7A6q3QwujI/AAAAAAAAA5I/nALISSKYZcM/S220/P1060234.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113597563033743551.post-813897886637435037</id><published>2008-07-05T12:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-05T12:12:30.053-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;"Hey," he said softly, "Thought you might need this. It's kind of chilly out here."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She took the sweater from him and laid it over her legs. "Thanks," she said before slipping back into her own world again, staring at the night sky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Both of them sat on the garden bench in the dark. Not exchanging a word. She was lost in thoughts while he sat there and looked at her. He was worried. She's been quiet for the whole day. Like something is bothering her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was the perfect kind of night. The sky was clear after the afternoon rain, the breeze was gentle but cooling and the stars are out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hey, look! Fireworks!" she exclaimed as her face broke into a smile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Random.&lt;/span&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/3113597563033743551-813897886637435037?l=print-scene.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/feeds/813897886637435037/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3113597563033743551&amp;postID=813897886637435037' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/813897886637435037'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/813897886637435037'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/2008/07/hey-he-said-softly-thought-you-might.html' title=''/><author><name>shans(:</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01467578978107397098</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_iGyyboUe6Mk/R7A6q3QwujI/AAAAAAAAA5I/nALISSKYZcM/S220/P1060234.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113597563033743551.post-4164108221109643612</id><published>2008-05-31T09:24:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-31T09:24:44.252-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Leaving on a Jet Plane.</title><content type='html'>&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;They swayed gently with the music, enjoying the moment. The third wedding they are attending this month. He was oblivious to what was going through her mind. And it made what she was going to do so much harder. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;As the music stopped and everyone starts leaving the dance floor, she held on tight to him. She buried her head and took in his smell – a mix of aftershave and shampoo. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;“Hey. Let’s go back to the table. Dessert is about to be served. You won’t want to miss it,” he whispered and gently let go of her. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;She looked up into his eyes and forced herself to smile, still not letting go. She leaned in for a kiss and it was the sweetest one ever. “Come on,” he smiled and dragged her towards their table.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;“Hang on. I need to go to the washroom,” she said and ran forward to hug him. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;He knew her behavior was weird but he didn’t think much about it. Wedding has that effect on her. Always. She’s always cuddly and touchy after weddings. But that was okay with him. Because he knows that’s her way of hiding her fears.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;He nodded and let go of her hands, “Shoo shoo.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;She smiled and watched as he walked towards their table, tears threatening to escape. It’s for the best. It has to end on her terms and not on his or anyone else’s. She strolled to the entrance, got onto the cab and headed to the airport.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;-&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;The dessert he saved for her was melting and she was not back yet. It was her favorite – Strawberries Sundae. As he watched the strawberry sink into the melting ice-cream, he started to get worried. He hurried towards the washroom and waited outside the ladies.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Just when he was about to go in to make sure she was alright, his handphone rang.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;“I love you(: And that’s not okay,” the text message read, “I’m sorry.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3113597563033743551-4164108221109643612?l=print-scene.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/feeds/4164108221109643612/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3113597563033743551&amp;postID=4164108221109643612' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/4164108221109643612'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/4164108221109643612'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/2008/05/leaving-on-jet-plane.html' title='Leaving on a Jet Plane.'/><author><name>shans(:</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01467578978107397098</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_iGyyboUe6Mk/R7A6q3QwujI/AAAAAAAAA5I/nALISSKYZcM/S220/P1060234.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113597563033743551.post-5428192751944950922</id><published>2008-05-17T10:08:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-17T10:08:54.220-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Taking the leap.</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;As she rounded the corner and came into view, his heart started racing and he broke into a grin. She was talking animatedly to her friends and did not notice him. It felt so good and familiar to see her again. The way she gestures and the way her face comes alive when she talks. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;She looked away from her friends and spotted him. Their eyes met and for a moment, they just stood there. She broke into a sprint and ran straight into his arms. He tightened his arms around her tiny waist and buried his face in her hair. So familiar, so comforting.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;“I missed you,” he whispered as he pulls apart from her. She grinned and turned around to say goodbye to her friends before dragging him away.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Because even though she’s only been away for a week, it seems like so many things have changed and so much time has passed. They have so much to catch up on. And as he listened to her travel stories, he realized something. He never ever wants to lose her. He wants to protect her. He wants to make this thing between them official. He wants to make her his. An open relationship is not enough for him anymore.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;-&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;“Hey, we’re home. Come on, I’ll piggy-back you home,” he said in his best soothing voice. Not daring to raise his voice or do anything loud. She looks so fragile, just like a beautiful glass angel. It feels almost as if by raising his voice, it will hurt her. That will be something he’ll never do.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;As he tucked her into bed, she woke up with a sly smile on her face. She pushed him onto the bed and straddled him, kissing her way down and making him groan with anticipation.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;-&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;As they lay in bed, snuggled up against each other, he decided to make his move. Because if he didn’t, he feels like he might explode.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;“Babe,” he shifted so that he is facing her, “Let’s make this official. Exclusive. Proper.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Shall we?”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;The tiny smile on her face disappeared. Her gaze shifted away from him. Not saying a word.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;She feels the same way about him. Initially, she thought that he was just like any other guy she had had flings with. But that week apart really brought everything together. She likes how he takes care of her and how he cares more about her than she did about him. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;But is she willing to let go of her fear of being reliant? Is she ready? &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;“I…Okay. But once anyone breaks the rule, it’s over. Okay?” she replied in a hesitant voice, still not looking at him.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;“Definitely. I love you,” he said as he started necking her. The very action he knows she love.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;-&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3113597563033743551-5428192751944950922?l=print-scene.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/feeds/5428192751944950922/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3113597563033743551&amp;postID=5428192751944950922' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/5428192751944950922'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3113597563033743551/posts/default/5428192751944950922'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://print-scene.blogspot.com/2008/05/taking-leap.html' title='Taking the leap.'/><author><name>shans(:</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01467578978107397098</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_iGyyboUe6Mk/R7A6q3QwujI/AAAAAAAAA5I/nALISSKYZcM/S220/P1060234.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
