You wake to find love crushed at your doorstep. As if overnight someone had tried to slip it under but it was too big, too unfamiliar to fit in your chest.
The earth shakes and all the cities under your skin are falling. And no one is around to hear it. Are you still broken if nobody witnessed your collapse? So you carry it with you.
All this crushed love, these quivers of excrutiating pain. And they never tell you how hard it is to lose love in people. How at night you can still feel your heart tugging towards them.
I just realized that my daily routine more than a month ago is like a cup of coffee that is unpleasantly bitter, lacking in nice creamy flavor milk and sugar. Imagine waking up two hours before your work schedule and battling your way through a traffic jam, walking from the point where you got of the vehicle, and reaching the office like a sweaty pig because of the scorching afternoon heat . Indeed like a cup of coffee – a cup full of passionate rants and nonsense rambles.
Life does things to you. Actually no, you do things for life. Sometimes you calculate it all and it comes out all premeditated. It makes sense. You visualize it, you analyze it, and you do it. You’re proud of what you’ve done. You hope for the best.Yet, sometimes you do things and you don’t really think about it. It’s like you were partially blindfolded. You have no idea what’s going on behind the blinds, but you think you’re on the right path.
People make mistakes.
I’ve made too many.
Where does this leave me? Who have I become? Am I still the same person? Am I really making the same stupid mistakes all over again? Did I calculate this? Or was I partially blindfolded?
I actually don’t know anything anymore. I walk aimlessly and I fear the next step.
What have I done?
I didn’t want to be here again. I didn’t want to be “that woman.” I didn’t want to have to write in this anymore. I didn’t want this “inspiration,” but here I am…
A quarter of a century.
A few years back, I have seen myself already married by the age of 25. As I write this today, a few weeks before my 26th birthday, I am still unmarried and is in more doubt about my weary existence in this world than ever before.
I realize that I am setting new standards for myself as I grow older. Love is not enough for people to get married but I do not also consent to the idea of treating marriage like some business deal with too much scheming and plotting.
I want it to be offered to me for reasons that are beyond me, and not because I just met certain requirements or qualifications. Or because I could fulfill certain conditions. I would want to spend the rest of my life with someone who truly and sincerely wants to be with me, not because I am just a piece that would complete his master plan.
I still believe that one day, when I least expect it, someone would come along and ask me to be his wife. It would be the most pleasant surprise in my whole life, and I am sure I won’t have the heart to turn it down.
I want my own love story to be good, worth telling to the world…
I could never have that if I were just a piece in a plan, or if I were just someone who’s not worth being accepted despite the short comings and mistakes, or if I were not worth being loved unconditionally.
so finally, after several years of attaching a thousand parachutes on myself, i am ready to make the jump.
am i happy?
i can’t tell.
i am excited that’s for sure.
there’s really no guarantee if i’ll make it though.
i’ll jump off with eyes closed.
i am terribly afraid of heights.
the more i see the vastness of space and land extending it’s arms to embrace me, the more i feel my heart sinking.
sinking to unknown depths of my soul,
drowning itself in the comforts of the unknown.
those places where my strongest memories hide,
like sunken pirate ships filled with treasures.
what if my thousand parachutes are all dysfunctional?
do i really have the faith that there will always be one to open for me?
will there be one in that thousand?