It Was Raining, But There He Was.

found via You are loved
Ah, I do not intend to write anything that involves awesome anime boys in school uniform—not that I want anyone to ever label me as a pedophilia or some sort of anything relates to it. I just do not want to ruin this moment and I mean come on, anime boys in school uniforms are hot. I have to say, if they really do exist in reality, I would not mind becoming a stalker for them.

I tend to like boys who are mostly in the art department—the one who smells of oil paint or perhaps the one with pencil stains on his rough fingers, or just the one who sits in a corner with a sketch book and an old pencil—those kind of boys who spend more time with their creativity sides rather than reality.

It may be the fact that I use to imagine my life in that world, the world of endless arts. I picture my self to work with lifeless utensils and apparatus to create an art that seems alive even may be just for me. For that I have the tendency to like boys who could draw, or simply those who are in the art department.

He wears a blue shirt and carries a black backpack—of which I see the most because I stalk him from behind—and one thing that makes him stands out is not the fedora he wears or anything—but the black case art students usually carry to bring along humongous drawing or layout pads around. I don’t even know its name, silly me.

It clicks in all the right places. I like that kind of boys and I mean a lot. I like someone who would talk more about his art and most of the time when he does not talk; his eyes would look as if it is deep enough to drown in it. I hate boys who talk so much—considering that the boys in my faculty all talks like shit, literally—and the ones who are mostly in the art faculty seems quiet and reserved.

I do not even know why I am writing this but perhaps I just want to keep this memory alive. I mean, I really like boys who are very good with arts. I like them more than boys who talk shit about music and stuffs. You do not know how deep art people could get when they actually talk about their arts.

Anyway, I hope to bump into him again next week. I try to catch up with him while we walk from the LRT station to the college but I am wearing my pair of flats and the one who walks in front of me is too slow that I do not have the chance to walk pass him. Let’s meet again, art boy. Even if I could only see you from far away, I would like that.