#late-nightthoughts

When you approach me, drenched in loneliness and wanting to hold the hand of the soft voice which used to comfort you. Your mind is in a haze because slowly the alcohol is taking over, and you slide into your feelings more — you're not sane anymore. The sane you take care of, takes control of you. The sane is a mask you wear daily — of not caring about anything or anyone — and you keep working to gulp down the ocean of unfulfilled emotion and the bitter hurt and wounds that you carry through your life every day.

At a point where you want to relax, you move towards the poison of alcohol. It’s the poison of giving your mind a chance to breathe, to let your emotional door open, and do the things you would never do when sober — like messaging me "Hey" or saying you miss me a lot, that it hurts. But you pushed me too far away, love. Too far away. You threw me in a deep black pit where it was hard to breathe, when you had promised to fly together to a quiet place with lovely birds around us, holding hands with a big smile. That was the picture you drew.

Then how come the darkness of hurt and pain is not as much affecting my heart as this filthy smell of lies and betrayal?

I climbed up — which was nearly impossible — and cleaned myself in the rivers of self-resilience, love, and care of my family and friends. I tried to find the pill — which, no matter how hard to swallow — could help me forget you, but your traces were everywhere. Your shadow was behind every tree I tried to hide myself from.

So, I became brave and learned to walk the path even with your shadows on the side. I was determined to face you if your cowardly self ever decided to show up — but it never did, nor ever will.

Though your pathetic, lonely self finds its way back to me when no one is there to look at you at your worst or ask about your day — when you can cry about your exhaustion of life and take a moment to breathe and relieve yourself on someone's shoulder.

No matter how hard I try to remember the cut on my heart and how much time it took to make that poor thing pump, to make it alive again, it still has space for you. Where it thinks of you as a little kid with big dreams, betrayed by a friend, and turning your whole life goal into a lesson — and you keep living with it without a single person by your side. At times like that, I could only comfort you with words. It was enough for you.

I was happy to be your yellow light shining above your head whenever the clouds seemed too dark and about to rain. I gave even the last of my shine to you to make your world a little brighter.

So why did you do this to me, darling? Was it pleasurable?

Now that you rot in your bed, thinking for hours about how you used to talk with me — and can't sleep nor come to me begging — because how could you? After all of this?

You take your poison and blame it all on it. And I blame this red fist inside my chest — it talks to you soft and assures you I’ll be there as a friend, so the little child who was betrayed and lost all hope, standing alone, would have a hand — a finger — to hold on to tight at a time like that.

Let’s make fools of ourselves in this maze that we are in — and the sins that we have committed — and become one in at least one universe, if not this one.

In that universe, you have never hurt me or used me for your lonely hours. You genuinely care about my well-being and feelings. I will keep that universe in my mind and run to you whenever you knock at my door — forgetting and leaving everything behind — because I am selfish, and I will love you because I loved you. And only you.

I would keep loving you for the selfish love I have for you. May we stay apart — I know you, you're there — seeing the same moon and wishing on the same falling star.

Let me be in my dream of loving you till I die, and the young love we had — I will think of it as fulfilled. That we both were permitted to stay together forever. We swore to God, lived beautifully — and I would become your widow — because I want to be with you even at your last moment, holding your hand, raising it softly, telling you that I am always, always there.

Sometimes you really have to love it with the same intensity you hated it to believe in it

Sometimes you have to put it into test and trial just so you could be sure if it's really worth it

Sometimes you have to let it occupy a place in your shattered heart so you could feel it one more time

Sometimes you have to look beyond the scope of bitterness if you really would like to figure out how to embrace it

Sometimes you've got to lose yourself and decide to never find that lost version of you so you can recreate another stronger being that you never knew existed in you

Sometimes you've got to remind yourself that you could give it another trial without heading into it with that same old mentality

Of which all these 'sometimes' are the rare times...