LIFE IS GIVING APPLES, SO I'M MAKING ORANGE JUICE OUT OF THEM.
I am okay. I guess that’s fair way to start this, right? Let’s open this book for one last time and maybe bury things from the past, to where they belong. I don’t know if you are aware of how you make me feel about some certain things and pardon me if I never gathered the balls to tell you this and convey clarity in my words. Allow me to be ambiguous for one more. I’m starting to lose faith in this story, truth be told. I don’t want you to just introduce me to a moment, I want you to breathe life in its characters, I want us in every single pages and chapters. I want you to stay with me struggling over conflicts and win over villains and antagonists. I want this tale to see us in its climax, because this is our story. I am not asking you to reciprocate everything, I just need you to be consistent and reasonable enough. I’ve been wearing this heart on my sleeve since day one, extending my hands just to make sure you fall unscathed. And you know that if only I have the means, I will ditch my life here and conquer miles just to be with you. That place with its palaces and population having the same number, the promise of snow in winters and its people with sexy accent is not a bad place to start a life after all. But, I don’t have the luxury to move, yet. You’ve been telling me not to keep my hopes up, thank you. Tell my mind not to, but my heart has its own sets of judgement. You are not the only one who has a say in this, I do too. All I want is to be strong enough and be ready, and so were you, and so are you.
There are times where I feel content with my current state of being and then all of a sudden my life flashes sending a flood of unrequested thoughts; all surrounding you. I don’t know what it is about us that just makes what we are, what we do or what we want so damn complex. There is so much that you want from this and so much that I am not yet willing to give. Who is to say that what you see with me is the same as to what I see with you? That is the downfall of committing to an idea before you commit to the person. In your head and in your heart you are wrapped around this fictitious notion that we are to be seen as one and live within this unbreakable vase of unity. Within this vase you have painted the picture of what I would like to call irrationality alongside of this figurative reality that we could conquer all. I’m not ready to delve into this version of the world with you, my heart is flattered but my mind sees more than just you. Of all the places we can go and of all the things we can do, I see myself being restricted by the thought of my life being sync’d to you. I send my love and I grasp onto your words and pray that you find the one that could give you what you deserve. For I am just another character misplaced into your tale, I robbed you of your sense of judgment, and instead of apologizing I’ll bid you a farewell.
It saddens me crossing a line, a confine filled with heartbreaks and lost hopes, I wish I didn’t see to begin. A corner with no defenses, instances when I wish to retrieve my steps and turn my back to falter my growing consciousness to the ugly side of relationship and commitments. It leaves me tear-eyed, sensing young hearts giving up to the promise of love, experiencing juvenile empathies, siding to the joy, pain, youth, discoveries and lessons with the other person, to the opposite sex. And collects frustration, drags self esteem to the ground in the long run. Not only because reality and their expectations didn’t meet, not because they fail to comprehend its intricacies, but they thought it has to do with love. There’s something queer about people fixated with the idea about music parallel to the saddest songs, about short stories into tragedies, essays in a page or two that tell how hurt they are, how weak their faith, sealed with tears, signed with pains. Love is supposed to be the warmth of the rising sun after a cold night, your lamp that lights your way to the end of the tunnel, your parachute on a skydive, an oasis for desert nomads, a familiar trail for the lost travellers. It is this precious, it saves, it defines hope and faith. A magic itself, a mystery in every way.
Love and waning hope in it, justify please?
You are seeing this, from a line of deception, abandonment, hatred and pain. Yes, cornered hearts filled with more reasons to attack than defend, more hope in dying than breathing a last gasp of air. These hearts are glancing at you with envy and glory; you are the heart that is constantly beating while their pulses are “waning”. You are still yet to go through the battlefield that is lurking with serpents of deception, you are still yet to fall off a cliff, you are still yet to be bombed with accusations and agony. You are barricaded from this, you have seen the damage and you know to trespass no longer on the decaying trails of travelers. Because you have seen our corpses, you have smelt the cold blood that is trickling from our veins.
Love is indeed magic, and we are contorted of colors from it. We are the examples of abandoned love and it is unjustifiable.