I thought when you said you wanted me, that you meant you wanted only me. I thought that I was your result, the end of your search, but I was wrong. To you, I was just a paper in a magazine. A funny girl who the sight of didn’t make you gag, one of many. You’re bored now, onto the next page.
He made me cross the lines I’ve drawn for myself & I made him cross his. We kept crossing lines one after the other until we lost sight of all. What was left was a single line that made a circle surrounding the both of us. It was him & I inside the circle while everyone else outside.
It’s been 8 months since then. Now I’m all alone inside that circle.
What comes after day? Night. What comes after life? Death. What comes after love? Heartbreak. Those who’ve lived longer or had opened their hearts earlier might have predicted it. They might have even laughed at my naive self for believing in & writing so much about love. I’d like to say it was never him though. It was never me either. It was everything but us. It was everyone else. But then again, does that even matter if it all hurts the same?
I thought love was in the shaking of hands, the pounding of the heart, the widening of the eyes & the slow passing of time but later I learned that love is in the comfort, and calm. It’s in the acceptance of flaws. It is in the absolute trust and fullness of heart. It’s in the non fading elation within your being.
Beautiful moon so bright, all alone at night.
Do you get scared? Or are you as brave as knights?
Ever feel lonely up there, or bored? Or do you enjoy the sight?
When it’s time for you to leave, do you cry? Or at least whisper goodbye?
Do you miss us? Think about us? Or wonder if we miss you?
Do you worry about us? Or wonder what we do?
Does it not frighten you to leave us, under the rays of someone new?
Does it matter what they might do?
I speak for myself when I say this, dear moon: I love when it’s just me and you.
What if I want what you have to offer but can’t let go of what I already have in exchange? What if I don’t know what I want? What if I’m just afraid??
I like writing about love because I remember a time when I used to hate it, belittle & constantly make fun of it. I genuinly didn’t get it. I didn’t get love or people in love. I didn’t get romance or that crazy stupid love people talk about. Not until I experienced it myself. Love is incredibly beautiful, and ugly, and confusing and scary and painful. Every emotion you know is experienced under the name of love. You sometimes want to write about it and scream it to the world. Other times you just want to cuss it.
However, the one constant thing is, you always want it to succeed. You want to see love bloom. You want it to traimph hate and every negative emotion known to you. You cling to it like hope and pray for it like a good friend or a child.