She Says, He Says

I wrote this about 2 years ago and never published it seeing it as one of those random articles I do out of anything. And I never thought of having a blog by then. I have almost forgotten it until this prompt from the daily post. Well, this may be one of my cheesy stuffs but I thought to share it anyway.

The girl’s perspective was written by my friend ( and upon reading it, I just want to give a voice to the guy in her story.

She Says

I used to believe that romantic love isn’t my thing. I met men who thought I was fool enough to fall for their dorky antics only to realize that they can never make me. I’m not sure where or when it started but I know something has changed the past few days.

I’d like to keep him unnamed for certain reasons and the main reason for keeping him in the shadows, I will write at the end of this entry.

When I feel like talking nonstop, he listens. Whether it is a childish story or a fabricated tale, he believes it. At the end of the day, I had to tell him what parts of my stories were true because he made feel guilty without intending to. He’ll give me a smile, an annoyingly cute smile that says, “I know.”

He knows I’m not the sporty type but he still wants me to kick the ball, do a lay-up and swing a racket. He saw me gave a girly kick, a stupid lay-up and a clumsy swing so I guess he’s given up his dream of playing any game with me. He wants me to be there though, to watch him in his every game, to give him a hug if he wins and still give him one even if doesn’t.

He reads me stories even though he hates reading and he has to wear his reading glasses. When I ask him to reread some parts, he gives me a disbelieving look and I give him a long pout. He rereads the parts I ask him to and I give him the sweetest smile I can manage.

He always gives me his hanky so that I can wipe my chocolate-stained fingers after eating pretzels. When he forgets his hanky, he uses his hands to wipe mine clean. It disgusts me every time he does that and he loves seeing me disgusted at that.

Little one, if only these things were true.

Tis me.

He Says

I used to believe that romantic love isn’t my thing. I had met women who love to be swoon by men who are jerks enough to fall into their every whim. Women cast some spell that can change things in men and I’m afraid I caught one.

She is a timid girl and everyone who is close to her can testify to that. But sometimes, when I am alone with her, it is as if she has been keeping too many stories inside her that she suddenly chokes out every word she can think of. The more she talks, the more I want to hear her voice and I find it hard to listen to everything she is saying. I would give out a few nods and ahs once in a while just so she’d know I am with her. Days. Weeks have passed and I can remember the things she blabbed about—especially those about herself.

She tells me how she would never understand the excitement in sports. But I know she watches football, basketball and lawn tennis at the least because she slips it into her stories at times. It makes me wonder if she also comes to my games whenever I casually ask her to. I know she’s always tired from work and her girl friends and her bed take most of the after-work time. All I can manage is when she would ask me to do her grocery, bring it over to her place, have a snack with her, and wait for her to ask me again after a week or two.

She loves reading and romantic tales always make her cry. Often would she associate herself with princesses and fairies and girls who are waiting for some knight to bring her her happy ending. Childish. But cute. And weird it is for me to have thoughts of being that knight who would sweep her off her feet. Right away, I would brush off the idea and scold myself for having thought of it in the first place.

She, most often, tries to secretly scout my backpack for the pretzels my little sis gives me from her baon. Only, I am smart enough to hide it somewhere before she starts looking. Then, once she realize I kept it, she would give me that one-eyebrow-raise and say “now give it to me, you pretzel monster!” and chuckle despite herself.

If only she can see what she’s doing to me, then maybe she can also see me.

We blog for a million different reasons, but in the end we’re all storytellers. Writing Challenges help you push your writing boundaries and explore new ideas, subjects, and styles. This post is in response to the weekly writing challenge – Weekly Writing Challenge: Leave Your Shoes at the Door


Modern Times, Another World, Same Magic

I decided to wear my hair violet and braided that day. Nothing special to celebrate, I just wanted to break from my usual black or brown hair on a typical Saturday night. The town was teeming with people, as always. Archers, priests, merchants, thieves, acolytes, swordsmen. Looking around me, there were quite a few with violet hair so I guess I’m well-disguised. And so the hunt began.

Continue reading