I learned that love, by farthest, is the easiest to build and the hardest to repair. And when we love, we bargain our lifetime to a vow that we are not sure to work out. And the compensation we can get is the hope that somehow whoever is with us will be the same someone we will die with.
I stoped writing when he left me because I believe writing should always have to have it’s soul.. which I lost along the way of mending.
But now, I then realized I did not lost it. I just choose not to believe in it anymore. And that is the greatest crime a writer could ever commit. Then, somehow, one day you’ll just by chance find your way to acknowledging it again.
So here I am, starting to write again. For no good reason than yes, I have loved again— now in a much different way and in a much different perspective. In a clearer and much concrete way. Because in life— you have to unlearn to be able to learn again. And in love, you have to unlove to love all over again.
I dedicate my first ever write up this year to the man I am certain would not so be affected by this. This is for the 3 years that I have kept all the hurt. This is for that same man who left me without goodbye but had given me the chance to always say hello. I don’t know if he still remember this but once upon a summer I have loved and lost him.
I know that you just like me, is wide awake tonight. I guess you were too busy holding all those stars so that people whose on there way home could have light, and for those who dream away for their wish to come true. By the way I went to watch this chic flick movie today all by myself. I was beside a couple and they were too awesome that I started regreting why I went there alone. For some odd reason I then thought this was better though, because it may have been worse for someone to see me cry. Hahaha! But you know what, more than crying, the movie made me laugh and realize how small things creates the biggest fear in our lives. And even after I left the movie house something triggered me to write again. I missed writing, for all the relief it gives me. And I missed loving— for all the feeling and uncertainties it provides me.
So the thing here is, I gained more than self-awareness, more than lessons, more than memories. I gained the strenght to feel proud that I had completed my promise not to be annoyed by my singleness and not to be persuaded by some wordly lures.
And for all the stupid notes I kept all these years of my so-called “patience” I have valued the meaning of self love. A kind of love that I usually hear from people who just broke up, had broken up and about to and what not. So this is self love after all. That kind of selfishness in a good way. That feeling of preservation of desire, that control, that kind of butterflies inside your stomach that don’t want to escape. So, this is self love on it’s hues and gray.
And I was caught up with the line from one of the main character in that movie; “I haven’t unloved you, I just loved you in a different way.”
We in all our humane way had never unloved anyone regardless of how painful and drastic our lovestory ended. For love is so ironic. Or maybe were all born masochist— kidding. Or maybe it is true— we eventually loved the person in a different kind of way. Do we?