Vive. Amare.♥

“Was I ever good enough” I asked you so many times I lost count.

You always told me that I was enough--that I was always enough. I always believe you too. Why wouldn’t I when you would tell me you love me with those eyes that always seem to sparkle. How can I not believe you when you always seem to reach for my hand whenever we’re together. When it rains, you’d bring the umbrella over my head and half of you would be drenched. You would watch the sunset with me and tell me tales of woes and we’d laugh at them together. You’d pull me close and kiss the top of my head the sweetest way I can barely describe.

Those were some of the moments that would come to mind whenever I start to doubt us. I’d remind myself you told me you love me and that there was absolutely nothing wrong with us. Then I’d see your arms with someone else that was definitely not one of your friends. I’d see you laughing and whispering with her so close I couldn’t tell where you ended and where she began.

We’d fight and I’d cry, and you’d tell me it was nothing and that I was the love of your life, then you’d kiss me and tell me everything’s fine. I’d ask you again if I was enough, then you’d tell me I was always enough.

I watched the sunset for the last time when I asked you again, “why was I ever good enough?”

You looked at the sky, with its pretty colors just before it gave way to night.

“You are enough.”

Indeed I was, but maybe not good enough for you. Maybe if I knew my worth, you’d see it too. Maybe I shouldn’t have to ask you for an answer I was supposed to know myself. Maybe, just maybe, I was supposed to love myself first.

I am enough.

The sound of the waves crashing the shore was a lullaby to my soul. The waters told me stories of how they crashed the land but the sea always pulled them back. No matter how many times they leave the shore, they always return. Always crashing and breaking over and over.

“Why do you always come back when you knew you’d leave anyway?” I asked the ghosts of the tide one sullen afternoon.

“Because it was all we ever knew,” they replied.

“Leaving? That was all you ever knew wasn't it?”

“Coming back to shore. That was all we ever knew. Not the leaving part, but the coming back again. The shore awaits. So we will always come back. No matter how many times we leave, we will always come back.”

“Don’t leave then. Stay.” I told the sea. They were quiet for a while, then said:

I took a train yesterday. I was one of the first few passengers. It was 6 o’clock in the morning after all. Everyone was still half themselves, seemingly just gotten out of bed. Some of them were on their way to work, some to school, while I--well, I didn’t exactly know my destination at that time. All I knew was that I needed to be somewhere--anywhere.

I replayed our conversations last night. How you told me you loved me and how you begged for another chance. I told you love was not enough. It was never enough for me. You said it should’ve been enough. I realized then that you were one of those people who believe in fantasies of a happily-ever-after although you will never admit to it. You believe that ‘love’ is the question and the answer to everything. You were a dreamer. Too bad I was a cynic. I believe that when life throws you lemons, you throw it right back at ‘em, whereas you will definitely make lemonades out of them. How I wish I had the same disposition as you were. Life would have been a fairytale. Life with you would have been like one of those romantic comedies I cringe on at theaters. Life would not have been a series of goodbyes and letting go.

As I watched the pregnant lady across me on the train, lovingly caressing her belly, I wondered if she believed in love being enough. I wondered if her secret smile was because she couldn’t wait for her miracle to come and how much she loves the little monster slowly growing in her. I am definitely certain that she is happy. She’s practically glowing with it. I hated her with envy at how happy she looked and how beautiful she was because of it. I looked at the old woman sitting at the end of the bench I was on. Her eyes were wise and her face serene. She looked at me then, at how I watched the pregnant lady. I wondered if she knew what I was thinking--what I was feeling. I wondered if she loved someone and was happy with the love they shared--if that love was all they ever needed. If love was enough for them. She smiled at me; I looked away.

Was love truly enough? What of dreams and ambition? What if I choose love and lose my dreams, will I be happy? Will I look as happy as this pregnant lady?

I remembered what you told me about my ambitions: You said I looked beautiful when I talked about them. I never understood what you meant by then. You told me you were proud of me, that you always were no matter what. You said you will cheer me on, and you did--you always did. I asked you what your dream was: you said you only dream for us to be together until the very end. “That’s it?” I asked, and you replied with “Yes. That’s everything.” Fool. I always thought you were a fool for not dreaming enough for yourself.

I stepped out of the train. The early morning warmth of the sun warmed my rather cold face. The pregnant lady stepped out too, she was greeted by a plain gentleman and immediately took her to an embrace. The old lady stepped out too, and was already going in the other direction. As I watched her leave, I wondered where she was going and if someone was waiting for her. I wondered how she lived her years and if those wizened eyes were borne of love and victories, and not of struggles and a series of broken dreams.

As I felt the morning breeze ruffle my hair, I walked without purpose and destination. Wondering and wandering. Love and life. Dreams and love. How do you know if you’re making the right choices? I guess life has a funny way of showing you answers then, as I stood in front of your yard and looked up at your bedroom windows.