Where All Words Start Pouring

cry

I always thought that love is a fiction. A story we all want to tell ourselves so that reality cannot be so consuming after all.

According to some people, love is something you indulge into to get away from the weariness and redundancy of life. Sounds deep I know. I don’t really understand it myself but I am pretty sure I have an idea.

I remember when the last time I felt something that resembles to such unworldly feeling— I thought I could fly. There was that overwhelming happiness that I wish would never end. And I am unconsciously doing anything and everything for that gorgeous feeling to stay here in my chest.

It was exhilarating like the first touch of orange or an apple to my lips. All its sweetness burst like a laughter from some long ago that I didn’t know I missed. Like having to lay on the grass on my childhood days and breathing the peace of air and sunlight through all my senses. It was addictive. I am addicted. I knew I wanted more.

But like all good things in life, it did not last.

I am writing this now because I have this feeling that I have to say. This is where I pour my heart out and tell whomever reading this that I have been there. I felt it. I experienced it. I soared high and then I fell hard. And now I am broken.

I am not dying though; far from it. But somehow I just think that I do not know where to begin. Life has not ended for me but somehow it felt like something important is missing. And with it, all my will have somehow disappeared on me. Maybe I will get them back, some days or weeks from now but right now I am simply lost.

I cried a little earlier. Yes, it is quite embarrassing to say it out in the open for the world to read but you have to remember that this is the part where I pour it all out. I cannot afford to leave some of “this” hanging. I need to start living as soon as possible and so I will let it all go from within. I am in the process of breaking or mending or something in between. This is not an easy time for me. I am of age and I am expected to manage everything in a mature and manly manner.

I fell in love and that I must admit while hurting. It hurts. I don’t remember it to hurt this way. Or maybe it has been too long since the last time somebody had made me feel this way that now it feels new again. Strangely, I feel like I am a child telling my older brother or mother or father that I got wounded playing childish games.

I heard somewhere that love is timeless. It could be true as now I am in a crossroad of figuring out whether I got kid around by some stroke of faith or I was just being foolish all this time.

I feel beaten but I could swear I have never been in a fight. Though it felt like I had to struggle and make my way out or in to something. I feel tired. No, I feel sad.

Sadness is the least thing I had expected from that moment when I felt it. Or maybe I was just too blinded to see or recognize a tragedy even if it slaps me on the face. I was so ecstatic that caring about other things has become senseless to me. And crying was the hardest to swallow because like sadness, crying was the last thing I would do. But alas, I cried. I felt weak. Or perhaps I am in fact really weak; just too proud to admit it.

I am broken and she is gone. I am broken and I cannot bring her back. I am broken and I want to be fixed. I am broken. I am broken. I am broken.

Maybe if I say it enough everything would miraculously fix itself. But that’s just asking for ridiculous. So I will just have to settle for something lesser—say it and unload the burden of keeping it all to myself.

I have friends but I don’t think they will understand. Maybe I could spend some time with them but I can’t tell them anything about this foolishness. I am never the type to spill my secrets, not to mention this much private. And I am weary of company at this moment. So I don’t think I will need some friends. What I need is a cold bottle of beer and some good ‘ol music to help me fall asleep.

If sleep could be my friend tonight I hope it will take me to her. Right beside her where I could lie down and let the time passes us by—right next to her where I could hear her voice and her sweet singing. I want her to hold me again and tell me that everything is alright again. And I will rest my head on her skin until sleep decides to wake me up. I miss her so much it’s starting to hurt like a wound.

My sadness is breaking me apart.

My sadness is making me think about her smile.

And I am now letting go of you.

Thank you for the happiness. It was worth all the risk.

I am just sorry I met you too late now. All roads lead me away from you.