Walkabout (me fuck you long time)
That girl he was searching for was finally in front of him. It dawned upon him that chance finally got him a welcome opportunity to make something happen out of nothing at all. His lips twist and tie a knot, speechless, as the professor gives each one a tiny moment of introduction. He was at the back, pale, and sitting at a comfortable position away from the many people, beside his newfound companionship, and making slight remarks at others' expense. His opportunity to seize the moment overpowers him, demands things he can scarcely accomplish, only that he thought he couldn't, but in actuality had been doing so every moment or so, involuntarily as it may. His turn to introduce himself presents and he cherishes that moment, with eyes seemingly propelled unto his stage. The limelight was his for that short moment. His wits gathers enough momentum, and for a millisecond conjures up something out of the blurt-out portions of his brain. He sees the woman and he turns his sights away. There was no doubt awkward tension. The pressure manifests itself steadily, but his wits were never compromised. Its vile nature conglobates and forms unified strength, something positive for a change, a chance to make something out of nothing. His effort will not come to waste.
And he speaks. With his nondescript voice he introduces himself and injects humour. He manages to make some giggle, as if he cares. Then for another second turns his sight to the woman that captures his thoughts, as her smile reaches at ears' length. That was all he ever wanted.
The night was young but his sweat and tears imminent from the glow of happiness. It forms a nasty streak of panic. Imagine a sauna suit meant for a summer night's crisp shadows. The friendship was blooming for something special, and he knew he couldn't have done it without taking action.
Six years later and his memories begin to fade. The shadows of that night's shadows were no more than deceptive. His life is no longer his. In fact, it was never his to begin with. The girl now lingers in his thought like a distant movie from an absquatulating grave of memories. She now finds solace in the farthest corners of the smallest continent with a man he barely even knew. Nothing became of that smile of hers, although their friendship were already made concrete in their sentimental hearts. She carves a legacy for herself, goes on as if nothing ever happened, and he is left to wonder whether a chance like his ever come twice. His life is in complete disarray. Her guidance would be tremendously life-changing, if only for news of her where and whatabouts and her joyous hellos.
He recalls of a certain scrapbook that was shown to him by this girl, about a time where he could no longer understand what it is he began to feel, as he was clearly taken aback by the woman's emergent kindness.
Alas, memories are self-delusionary. Her friendship was merely masking her own bipolar self-esteem. His presence made it all the more better. He goes along for the ride, ready and willing to die at her heart's private real estate.