dear past lover

Thank you for being such an ass. It made letting go of our relationship easier. It made me realize that you can't expect someone to love you like you love them, that love does not always beget love. Had we continued our relationship, I would still be the one chasing after you, exhausting my patience, and letting you get away with your sometimes harsh and insensitive remarks.

So yeah. Thanks for giving me all those reasons to break up with you. I'm so much happier now.

I don't want second chances

When we broke up, I welcomed the thought of giving us a second shot. But I think better of it now. I don't want second chances with you.

You hurt me and, yes, you apologized. But that doesn't make you less of an asshole. I'm not bitter, mind you. I'm not even angry anymore. But I guess I am a little angry today. So fuck you, C. Fuck you.

Why I couldn't break up with you

I guess it goes without saying that it's because of love. But I realized today, as I walked into the shower, that I didn't want to break up because of fear. I'm scared. I'm scared of possibilities. I'm scared of what ifs.

What if we broke up and later on you met someone and fell in love and your timing was right?

I don't want to think. Honestly. It was going so well. So fucking well. Until, this morning, I woke up, and all of a sudden I was sad again. So I worked hard to distract myself all day, just to keep you off my head. I didn't want to think of you. I didn't want to want to see you, to want to hold your hand, to want to talk to you. But I did anyway.

It's so stupid.

And I know you don't like it when I think of these things. You don't like it when I hurt because of the things I load into my mental freight train. I know you want me to learn to control my emotions. And I am. Slowly. A little surely.

But, you know, sometimes, I wish you'd help. I keep listening for the sound of the telephone, wondering if you'd ever call. I keep checking for messages. I keep waiting for an invitation.

But this is a choice I've made. And I swore to myself I'll be the one to stay until you don't.

And I will.

I'm a coward and I'm sorry. But this is the bravest I could be right now. And excuse me for being emotional. It's not like I can't help it.

Good night. I love you.

200611

A friend wrote an essay about the weather and the INALity it induces. She called it What I Talk About When I Talk About Love is Nothing.

After reading it, I looked back on the latter half of the past year (how I yearned to have someone to snuggle up to on rainy days) and the first half of the present year. I almost gave up on this. Or would you be more appropriate?

I almost gave up on you.

But I didn't. Or, to be more precise, I couldn't.

What I talk about when I talk about love, these days, is not nothing.

What I talk about when I talk about love is you.

this is how i know

If I can do away with my selfishness, I can be happy. I blame it on the stars, but seriously, what the hell do stars have to do with me? I'm just trying to find an excuse, a justification. Something to back up this self-indulgence.

Love is not selfish.

But I am.

I, however, am trying to be as unselfish as I could for fear of chasing you away. And this is how I know. This is why I am so certain I will not have anyone else.

I'm sorry I sometimes lose it. But I am trying. I'm trying really hard. To understand. To accept. To adapt. I sometimes forget all this though, particularly in the event of an emotional fit. I've always had a hard time controlling my emotions. I am rarely ever logical, which is why I do the things I do and say the things I say.

What we currently are—something caught in the middle of being lovers and being friends—is something I would have never tolerated if this didn't matter as much as it does. This is how I know. I figured I'm willing to compromise things I never imagined I would. Especially not for you, because, before all this, you were just a little less than a friend, someone whom I thought would make a good cousin-in-law. A thing of the past.

I'm sorry I demand things I shouldn't. I keep forgetting I am in no position to ask for anything and should instead find satisfaction in what I have.

Because, really, right now, you, more than anything, make me happy.

the arcade scene

I am inundated with the sound of gunfire and dance as we enter the stroboscopic battlefield. The cold is dry and artificial and barely sufficient, calling forth a squadron of sweat blobs from beneath my skin. We soon partake in the war (armed with plastic guns, unlimited ammunition) and I am reminded of the ongoing strife I have with myself. You jam my radar and go for the first kill, taking victory with a wicked grin. And as I lose a second battle against you, I realize the inner conflict has died down too.

I have lost myself in you.

you say it is love

You say it is love and I, too, say, ah, this might just be love, after all, for you never vacate my thoughts, you never take a step towards the door, you never open a window to let the breeze in, you never go. And you say it is love, but I sometimes ask if it indeed is love? For what is love without knowing what is touch and what is taste? But you say it is love for I am constantly traversing the highways of your mind, so you say it is love and we say it is love.