Bliss and Bruises

 i visited a phone store recently, and the person who assisted me had the same nickname as yours. i sneakily fished out my phone from my pocket, and took a quick picture of his name tag. a few moments later, i find myself still staring at him. although your appearances have nothing in common, it was the closest to you i’ve gotten in the past few months. i thought, maybe if i stared longer, more intently, i could see a resemblance.

i’ve decided to write everyday. spend a little of my time reminiscing. in hopes that one day, i’d read my entries, and the loss of the good memories won’t hurt anymore. day one was hell. it was a nightmare. an entry for a day became four. day 2 however, felt easier. lighter. it felt more possible to get over. suddenly, it’s day seven, and there i saw the first tangible picture of you and her. it was the most concrete proof i could ever set my eyes on. it’s been a week, but damn, it felt like day one all over again.

i was out with my family when a dog jumped on the platform of where i was seated. her owner hastily tugged at her leash as she repeatedly called out her name. the same name you probably whisper at nights when you have more than enough love to give. i couldn’t have masked the disbelief painting my face any better. your name and hers are far too common in this world, and it’s a pain i am unfortunately paying for.

 your phone calls went from frequent to none. then, calling you was second nature to me. it wasn’t anything i felt reluctant over. now, my brain goes haywire just thinking of the possible scenarios such as getting considerably drunk, and maybe sending you a half-conscious message. (i could pass it off as mistake anyway, right? i mean, you know, to save myself from the humiliation of impulsive decisions) i want to be selfish enough to allow myself to overstep. just this once. but nothing’s sure anymore, and i won’t be able to read you with the same air of confidence and certainty i used to. but my god, my chest feels heavy from the weight of words that haven’t escaped my mouth, and i’m afraid that if i keep them in any longer i’ll be unable to breathe. 

and since i’m already being honest, here’s one more truth for you: you weren’t supposed to matter this much. but lately, life hasn’t really been going my way, and so i’m not completely surprised that things didn’t go as planned. it hurts all the same, though. you told me of yourself not knowing that you were leaving fingerprints on my skin. i’ve tried washing them off, but nothing seems to work well enough to remove. 

but i am trying. 

know that i’m trying. 

that i’ve swept your lies under rugs, and that i’m keeping count of the number of times i visit your profile. it’s becoming more minimal by the second. i’m starting to mean smiling again, and don’t worry, i refuse to turn into the unpleasant girl who lashes out at anyone who gets too close. 

i’ve heard advice coming at me from all directions. some, pale in comparison to the rest. one, sticks out from all that i’ve heard. a friend messaged me once telling me that there are instances when love has to wait, but more often than not, love takes time. i found myself staring blankly at my laptop screen not completely processing the newfound information, but something told me she was speaking more about myself than she was about my situation. 

that if there’s one thing i should understand, we all have different pains, and varying ways in which we heal ourselves from them. i admit i’ve built my walls, and kept my distance, but staying that way only means that pain wins. that maybe, it takes loving myself again to truly love someone else. that it takes a reasonable amount of respect to walk away from anything that weighs me down. that’s another truth to add to the list, and it’s one more thing i’m done denying. 

perhaps hearing your name still hurts, and the thought of you loving her hurts even more. now. because although i’ve grown familiar with every corner of your head, and decoded the language of your intakes and releases of breath, i have hope that i can unlearn you still. i trust that days will pass, and your name will slowly but surely blend in with the crowd. i won’t seek for you in strangers anymore, and fast forward to when fate would have it, we’ll meet in a coffeeshop someday. 

you’ll have the love of your life by your side, and i’ll notice the way you look at her. you’ll offer i go first, but i will politely decline. i’ll ask you how you are and you’ll tell me you work nearby. in return, you ask me how i am, and i’ll tell you i’m running late to meet a friend. you’ll shake your head out of fake disappointment, and with amusement glinting in your eyes, you’ll tell me that some things don’t change. i’ll laugh and agree, not only because that’s what’s expected of this picture perfect moment, but because the truths have stopped hurting long before that day. 

when i leave the cafe with a small smile on my face and my coffee fix for the time being, i’ll thank God for the quick run-in. i’ll thank the heavens for the small talk i would’ve cursed if only it occurred anytime sooner. i’ll wave you goodbye before i leave the driveway, and i’ll know then that goodbye for the both of us has only ever meant see you later. 

i. i understand your cry for shelter when the weather has gotten too cold for your liking, but i urge you to see the beauty in dancing under the rain. take my hand, let’s make good out of the bad. let’s make a masterpiece out of a blank canvas; make use of shells we’ve picked up after the high tide submerged the shore. 

 i admit i have never felt satisfied with settling for “okay” and “just fine” or anything along those lines. 

 and maybe the miscommunication has been present all along; 

you wanted to feel warm, but there i was trying to make you feel alive. 

ii. my arms are too tiny to build a house out of me. i cannot use my arms as shields for when you need protecting. 

the truth is, life is hard, and it’s a reality we shouldn’t expect to be any different. tell me you need to hide, and i’ll tell you to face your fears. tell me the storms don’t let you sleep, and I’ll drag you out of bed to weather them with you. if you tell me you’re afraid to fall, we’ll jump together. there won’t arise a need for catching here.  

iii. you find solace in silence, and so you’ve turned deaf to what i’ve been screaming all along. i. love. you. 

i guess i forgot you spoke in whispers, and you’ve counted my voice out as noise. 

 iv. for when your head felt heavy, and my shoulders felt stiff, know that they were not meant for comfort. they are stiff out of carrying burdens for two. 

i was told love demanded strength, and my own version of an Achilles heel was a liability i swore i could not afford. 

 so be careful, i don’t want you cut from my edges. 

v. maybe you didn’t find a home in me, because i cannot be a home. you want something to come back to, but i have grown to seek answers for all that i wonder. i could not have offered you a home, but i could have promised you that you will never have to wander alone. 

 i am not asking you to recognize this love, all I’m saying is that it was there. and it was the closest thing to real i could offer. do not confuse this for an apology. i am not sorry for being different.

but if you’re still thinking about where it went wrong:

i wanted to be more than just your home. 

let’s hope for both our sake that it won’t be anytime soon. i don’t think i can watch you holding a hand that isn’t mine just yet. don’t worry, i know my part in this. i won’t go to all the places you took me. i won’t eat in the restaurants we’ve eaten at. the food won’t taste the same anyway. i’ll avoid going to the theatres, too. i won’t go to the places you’ll take her, and i’ll ignore things that remind me of you. i know, close encounters may be unavoidable, but let’s do the best we can, right? you, in return, won’t message me. you won’t make it any harder for me. you won’t ask me if we could stay as friends, because we both know it’s settling for less. and we’ll make it. i’ll make it. i won’t tell you i felt the same. that i’m not the asshole your mind has built me up to be. that i care; much more than i probably should. but i won’t tell you that. i’ll stay silent. because you’re happy, and who am i to stand in the way? besides, if i tell you, the best case scenario wouldn’t even be half as good as what you can potentially have with her. i hope she feels like home. but if you’re curious. really curious. just listen to the rain, i’m listening to it too, and while you’re looking at it, know that i still remember you. i should probably forget, though. but for whatever it’s worth, it takes a conscious effort on my part to forget. you should see me. you should see me reading books, and doing my best not to wince at the lines that hit my stomach. you should hear me forcing laughs at a new series i know you don’t watch. then again, you probably shouldn’t. knowing you, you’d like to fix what you’ve broken, but i don’t think i’d ever go near the pair of hands that were unknowingly responsible for the breaking in the first place. if only i could answer your question of just how much you mattered, i would tell you that drinking coffee hasn’t been the same since. each sip is like swallowing your name, and it’s a poison i wouldn’t want to be cured from. i’ve grown up believing that when your love for someone is so strong, it’s the type of love you don’t let go of. in this case, i wish you knew i had to.

i hope when i see you again, i’ll still recognize all the good in you,  but not love you anymore. and when i see you again, i’ll tell you i’m happy for you. by then, i’m hoping i’ll mean it.

i know i was gone even before i met all your sharp edges, but something tells me i’ve still rounded enough of your corners. (i know she has the opportunity to meet those foreign places now, and God, i’d be lying if i said i never wanted to)

but can i ask you?

have you told her about your dreams? has she discovered the nerd who loves math, and buries his nose in books so much he’ll refuse to pay attention to anyone who attempts to make conversation? have you told her about all the mountains you want to hike, and the places you want to travel? have you told her all the things i know? how you don’t like eggs with your bacon, and how you can actually cook them yourself?

does she know you like i do? (please, say no)

has she touched your hand and loved the stories that came with it? does she listen intently when you tell her about how your day went? tell me. (I’m stupid enough to break myself for you again and again, anyway)

i know she wasn’t there the Christmas when your chore was to wash all dishes, and it’s probably unfair to quiz her about a situation she wasn’t present in (the same way that if she asked me about you now, i wouldn’t know what to answer), but does she know that you hate your fingers looking all wrinkly, and that you almost poured an entire bottle of lotion just so they could be smooth again?

(does she know that you like your fingers being played with, and being tangled with another?)

does she know you like i do? (i beg you, shake your head, do anything to disagree)

has she traced the creases on your forehead, and wondered why they appear? does she know that you prided yourself in being simple, and yet somehow, still one of the whiniest people i’ve met. believe me, i loved you so much they were close to sounding like music.

has she kept up with the pace of your feet? the ones always in a hurry to get to places. i know, i tried keeping up with them, and they just found ways to lead me to you. (somehow, i still can’t find my way out)

has she discovered your mind, and the words begging to get themselves out? have you told her you loved her, and that it took every ounce of courage in you just to learn the word love in the first place? have you told her how you learned? (i know it’s a shot in the dark, but I’m hoping you’ll tell her i taught you) how it seemed more like a tongue-twister than an 8-letter-phrase?

does she know you like i do? (say she doesn’t)

has she been to the depths of your soul, and listened to Fall Out Boy play with the beat of your heart?

does she know all your bad, all your good? has she comforted you when you had nightmares, and dreamt with you with only stars and each other as witnesses?

does she know you like i do? (don’t break my heart, please)

does she know that you have a love for heavenly bodies i was convinced that even romeo and juliet’s affections wouldn’t compare?

does she know you like i did?

Giving up is winning:

When you’re with someone who doesn’t know that love means holding your hand without holding you down. It’s when you know you are half of the equation and half of the answer and yet he asks you to be less or more than that. Giving up is winning every time he locks the doors when you’re supposed to be building more of them for each other.

When his love, or his messed up idea of it, simply asks you to change. Love doesn’t break you down and choose which parts to keep, making you get rid of the rest. No, love does not ask you to change because it inspires you to. It opens your eyes to the great things you can become, a reflecting better version of who you already are, and not an entirely different person altogether.

When loving him makes you hate yourself. The moment you use “because I love him” as an excuse is the moment you cross the line between understanding and tolerating. Love takes your breath away but should never end up in suffocation.  

When fighting for that prospect of forever has turned to just fighting. Because love is not just the number of times he hugged you when you asked for it but the number of times his arms found themselves entangled with yours when you tried so hard to push him away.

Falling in love is great

but

 There is also a falling motion involved in being thrown away

There are these dull days wherein I feel that the bed is unarguably my best friend. No, believe it or not, I’m not physically incapable or severely depressed. It just feels so much easier to lie sheltered under the blanket covers rather than having to forcibly make amends or spend money or entertain people I don’t care enough about. But after several months of persistent gloating and excessive junk food consumption, I finally found it in myself to heave myself out of the bed and give in to the epitome of reckless enjoyment – a high school party. It’s been awhile since I’ve opened myself up to the idea, but for some reason, now felt like the perfect time to let go of my slightly sociopathic ways.

The entire night flew by in a haze, mostly because I only really had my heart in it when I was locked in a room with four other girls. With a swig of some liquid confidence, it wasn’t long until we poured out our heavy load unto one another. So many secrets, pains, and truths were thrown off our chests and I have never felt so rooted in friendship than I did at that golden hour. In all honesty, I never really considered the amount of suffering another person has to tolerate except for my own. Questioning God proved to be no help at all, but I reckon we all need to go through hell so that we can enjoy heaven a little bit more.

After every story shared, each one of us offered something to the table with their small taste of wisdom. The best part of it though, it’s that no judgment or hatred was ever tossed around. Time flew by and the later it got, the more meaningful our conversations became. Love and lust, jealousy and anger, pain and regret – we went the full round. After an hour became two, and two became three, we were left at deep admiration of what we had just done. Finding solace in another human being seemed so easy at the time, it makes me wonder why people ever hesitate to speak what’s on their mind. Towards the end of the night, I spent a moment to comprehend the situation at hand. It was one of the biggest ironies I’ve ever come across; I was sitting in a room full of people, each one sobbing hysterically because they feltalone. The funny thing is, we were all so consumed by our so-called “loneliness” when there were literally four other people before us, holding their arms open and free to embrace.

My point is I think that it is important that we allow people into our lives. We need to hone this ability, and at the same time, the ability to lend an ear. There will be days where people will become the monsters in your childhood storybook but don’t let dispel you from venturing the world for more superheroes. Needing someone does not make you weak, it only makes you hopeful. They fill in the gaps in your time frame, the cracks in your hearts, and the emptiness endured during dull days. Sometimes, we just need to divulge and be heard. People make life more bearable.

It has come to my attention that most of the boys I’ve encountered have lost the proper means of flattery. They obnoxiously ask me to pay instead of offering. They walk out instead of holding the doors open. They spit out compliments instead of meaning them. Society has given them the intangible passport to being half-hearted and downright offensive when trying to get a girl’s attention. Usually, a bunch of guys trying to win my heart should be substantial, but then again, what satisfaction am I supposed to feel when their words lack authentic substance.

“Look at those tits.”

“Nice ass.”

“Flash me something, babe.”

And my least favorite of them all – “U’re cute.”

Talk about cheap shit? Receiving these compliments are as worthless as picking up a plastic coin when you thought it was your lucky day. It’s the unpopular opinion, but I personally dislike being associated with the word “cute” because it sounds like something you call a puppy. There’s nothing exhilarating in it. The word embraces absolutely nothing of what I want to be recognized for, and frankly, it does not flatter me in any way. Don’t be ashamed if you’re a girl that’s been completely repulsed by these so-called “compliments”, too. You shouldn’t be easily swayed by a guy that only mentions how cute you look, or how fucking hot your rack is.

For the boys; Providing unnecessary attention to her body parts and her face and her flaws isn’t something you need to do. She knows her body far more than you do, so you most definitely don’t need to remind her. What she doesn’t know, are the things you should shower her with. These are the things she neglects and the things that she denies. Tell her that she is lovely, intelligent, artistic, spontaneous, intriguing. Extensively describe the curves of her lips, dictate to her the number of times you’ve thought of her in a day, tell her that she is most beautiful when she least expects it. Remain sincere and kind with your words. Winning a girl is like a game of chess – it requires precision and focus with every move taken.

I’m not saying that girls need to be flattered and showered with affection, I’m only saying that there’s a right way to do it – and it’s not being done. We don’t need to be coddled, we don’t need men to pay for our food, and we most definitely do not need to be told about how great our asses look through our shorts. But what we do need, is respect. Boys need to treat women like treasures, because they are worth more than cheap compliments and tacky pick-up lines. Isn’t the point of flattery to make a person feel empowered? What kind of empowerment comes from meaningless phrases that objectify women? If anything, these boys are degrading women. She doesn’t blush when you say that her boobs are great, her cheeks turn pink because she’s embarrassed that her tits were the only things you noticed. If you’re a guy trying to get a girl’s attention, don’t ever expect a good reaction from your absurd manner of impression.