Oh well.

Just like what the title says, oh well for me. Having a bad mood lately because of a thing that happened to a friend of mine. No, this is not related with the person I pointed out in my previous entry. This is a new one. Well, let’s hide her under the codename:

“Chikita.”

Chikita is well, a good person, an intelligent one, and a friendly type. She was a high schooler back then. Now college came. She’s in a dormitory right now. Well what can you expect from the dormitory? You’ll gain nothing. And temptations are there, waiting for a victim. Now, I don’t know for any reason why she gave in to the temptations. Lately she’s having bad scores in class. And she’s now doing vices like let’s say, drinking. As far as I know Chikita, she doesn’t drink. What I just don’t like to happen is that she’ll give in to the temptaion of smoke. When I say smoke, I mean smoking. It’s not a good thing to be done. So I want to help her at least, before everything ends up into waste. It’ll end up her studies and much worse: her life. And the bad thing is, Chikita is my crush ever since. And what I hate in girls is that they smoke, drink nor being the flirt type. I can accept when they flirt with fun, but in a serious thing, no way for me. I can still love her even if she will become a fail in school because of the subjects, but if it’s because of the vices, hell no. Dump to the trash can.

 Leaving you guys a quote from St Augustine:

“Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being “in love” which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two.”

Oh well.

 Jhizole, out.