Cumbersome

Tuesday, November 4, 2014 Comments Off

"There is a lot of love lost when you chose to love something. Lots of time and dedication and effort got taken away just to please this something, or please yourself for this special something. It may be hurtful for the others, but if they understand you and love you in return, they would not complain––as a matter of fact they would love you, for finally taking notice of a love that has been hovering there while you were busy not noticing. It is the most selfless thing in the world when you finally love something."

"A lot of time wasted for naught, I bet." I said, the forever hopeless romantic realist. "There is no way of knowing whether they love you back."

"But they say action speak louder than words."

I was about to say, true, especially in cases when one partner is typically more introverted than the other or when one of them has anxiety issues, but the words were swallowed by my intake of beer and my nerve to speak was drowned in the joined hands of loud locals and drinks being served. "Loads of bull," I ended up saying.

"How could you be––you were once my," a sigh could be heard, or perhaps I imagined it as so, "You've changed so much. Too much."

Maybe it was true. The design and complexity of my new world was different from what both of us had known for a long time. Scenery of it was, quite possibly, a stark contrast of what we had (years and years ago). I could not tell if it was for the better. Or for worse. There was this ethereal serenity that I found by being something that I was.

Maybe it was true. They said I had this twinkle in my eyes that people had not seen before, a recently discovered enigma that was buried deep between the possibility of relapsing and nestled behind my self-control. My eyes now focused on the dartboard next to the bar. People were bee-lining to get pumped. (I did not know anything about infatuation, not anymore.)

Maybe it was true. The early stages were predicted, by science, humanity, and psychology. But these aftereffects were unknown to mankind unless their experience it. It was a personal combat between the mind, the conscience, and the heart. Ethereal, yes, but it was also lonely. Cumbersome.

"Did love changed you? The love of others that had served you for years and now they chose to change you. This is not who you are." it was almost delivered as a scream, but the tone was changed on the last part. Instead of anger, it was disappointment. To self or to me, I could not tell.

"It is called family. They don't serve me. But it was not love. It was hatred." I could tell, a flicker in the eyes changed from disappointment to curiosity. Perhaps I did not phrase it perfectly. "What I meant was that my hatred towards everything that used to make and identify me was the sole key to changed me. This hatred is another form of love that I wish you could experience."

"Life-changing, I bet." this time, it was a sneer. A condescending experience that I had seen thousands of times before.

"I could not do that anymore. It was not even the drugs that ticked me off. Recreational drugs are not something that people should take lightly, but in this case, it should be. The simple reason was the whole cult. The celebration of something that should not be loved. Worshipping something that's living is not a way to live. Dedicating your life for someone else, that's not guaranteed would love you back or even think about you the same way you think about them was not healthy. Not for me. Have you seen the tricks behind the miracles? All staged act. It's time to take time for myself. This is my life. I would not give another thought or any dispensable and indispensable things for it. I could not tolerate it. Not anymore." my speech was delivered without feeling or emotion, the best way to make someone understand.

"You were my husband. We were supposed to live with each other forever. I could not––"

I put some bills on the table and proceeded to leave.

Maybe hatred that pulled me out. But it was love that made me leave.

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