kael

How can it be that the sublime can only be approached but never touched 

I still remember the time when I waited for you to open your door for me. I was alone, tired, my right arm mildly injured, and ultimately confused with the surge of my emotions. I waited. Outside, wondering if you really are grateful to see me or positively surprised that I will be shortly spending the night in your room. 

The moment felt like forever. While I was standing outside, I backtracked the events that transpired two hours ago, trying to filter between the things that I could say to you and the things that I should better leave out. Why? Because I was stupid. I was dumb enough not to rationalize my emotions. Irresponsible enough to think about my choices. Because back then I didn’t even care if the water in the pool is cold before I dive right in.

Two hours ago, I am thirty-minutes away from you by car. Along with someone that I known I should have never talked to again. And it all felt wrong for me and right for her. Why out of all people do I have this mild altruism upon those who I made contact with? It was in such a state that I tell myself that I should be who is on the upper hand. The one who does not look back and leave the past to the past. I blame my romantic tendencies to hope that it is all going to be okay, that everything is possible and it is going to be alright despite my choices. I was blind to the fact that everything that I am doing is going to end up good and I will be fortunate enough to benefit from the consequences unknown to me.

My mistake is that I put too must trust on the unknown. To trust that the fire is not going to burn my skin; that it will not hurt because I have tolerated the fires of love which once burned me to ashes and resurrect myself from within like a phoenix. I was wrong to think that there is only one kind of fire.

There is a kind of fire that burns from within yourself. The more it grows, the more the fire outside of you weakens. Suddenly, you lose sight of the other world. It is the fire that traps you into your own solipsistic world because you burn so bright and all you can see is white. The shadows will hide themselves away from where you are. All things will glow. But sooner you will realize that your new found perspective of the world lacks contrast and therefore, depth. 

But it will be too late when you realize that.

And the door started to open in front of me with your face slowly peeking through the gap. Your hair beautiful and short and your eyes tantalizing as always, squinting quietly through mine that speaks a similar confused maladies. I paused. Struck in awe. Trying to process the present moment in all its complexities. The murmuring silence speaks of the things we choose to be left alone. Our thoughts that scream from inside our heads and the disappointed desires that echoes from within our flesh.

I wanted to hug you tight and kiss you goddamn hard so tight that we could own the night. To caress your arms and push you against the wall and let your soul take mine so we could play with fire and burn along with sin; so that without actually selling our souls to the Devil, we could taste a little bit of Hell; so that I could taste a little bit of your passion and regrets, lost nostalgias and secrets and I would let you take the thrill fall and we will never touch the ground.

And just like that, the moment is lost when instead, I took a step forward and said hello. Without a kiss. Without a hug. Without nothing.

Small talks.

Unfinished business.

And this is where the problem lies in me pondering about love as something I fail to grasp. In the entirety of emotional interactions I relentlessly refuse to be absorbed. Emotions I aim to control where emotion is the turning of the earth, and the earth is the truth and I am only a piece of a landmass waiting to crash into another continent. Emotion is not what I lack but fail to understand. Love makes no sense to me but a four-letter word that keeps on repeating itself over and over and in its apparent misuse obscures the true intent upon its utterance. Love itself is too much for me to think about which paralyzes me, leaving me clouded by my own thoughts and finding love where it has already left. I question things too much and I forget about the immediacy of the flow of emotions, the fleeting feelings that my thoughts cannot overtake. I grieve over my incapacity to feel. I feel guilt to cause pain to anyone who claim to love and have loved me.