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Leo stretched himself on the plastic chair he had been sitting on through out the day. He couldn't believe he had sat out the day, watching the day stretch luxuriously into night; yet he couldn't help it but sit there, waiting for the incendiary to cause the spark. The special kind of spark he thinks he needs to make his day whole!. Somewhere in the berth where ennui and angst dance together, and creativity is a natural feeling, he dwelt. And amidst the vertiginous feeling hunting him, he was determined to find words from the pit of hell to soothe his feeling. He wished to write of love, of her: the girl who had popped up from the stars and stole away the impression of his fantasies, DIANE.

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A smile lurked the side of his lips as thoughts of her filtered into his consciousness. It had been his normal activity since the past week he started giving conscious effort to avoid her, so he would concentrate, to think out what he really wants with her. But he had not really thought of anything else but her. Her image seemed to always be at his subconscious, writing love letters in the dark. She is his million fantasies, rolled up in one perfect reality. From the first day he met her at his class, and talked to her. There was a part of him that remained with her. And it was very easy to miss her. She fitted perfectly into the image of the girl of his dream. He could only pretend he didn't miss her, but his body will always tell a different story. He missed her : a longing that had torn deep into him. He wished she could come from the sky and cuddle him to sleep, just for that night. But if only, if only wishes were horses....

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For him, writing is an escape from the intensity of his suppressed feeling, an imprisoned feeling for which there is no outlet. Feelings that felt so obscene for him to let out to anyone, not even his Diane; he tells his book, for its his closest companion. He felt this joy that soothed his heart is only but a void that would soon expire. But even as he bled his ink for her, he knew that nothing exists that was yet to exist. He would tell her, and expect a reply; however horrible. He would contain it. He knew he is not really the best guy, the perfect guy for her,But it is left for her, to break him first, before molding him into any shape she desires. And as the last ink dropped, he concluded his story with the overwhelming burst of his heart!