Little Drizzles
I have always thought love would come knocking with a sharp, reassuring tap tap.
Love would caught me by surprise because it'd arrive at the most unpredictable time. It would come, bearing the comfiest, overworn sweater that has faded letters of something from their past. Love would come as it is, without anything covering its blatant truth and potentials. Love would let me snuggle, even if it was hot outside. Love would never fail to say please, sorry, thank you. Love would apologies when needed, not expected. Love would wait for me to finish an even pair of winged eyeliners, while I wait for the tea to cool down, and for the rain to transform into little drizzles.
But that specific kind of love never came, love never did. At least not in that particular state. Almost Love did grace me with their presence, but Almost Love did not live up to their potential. An Almost Love came by for a chat or two, leaving me beguiled, and then it left. Almost Love straightened up their tux as they wait for a set of eyes to sweep them off their feet. Almost Love hurriedly caught their next plane to their dream destination, in which they found contentment and self-actualisation. Almost Love got to one of their knees in front of someone else; someone with pink cheeks, freckles, and naturally blonde hair. Almost Love opened up a coffee shop, in a city thousand miles away (it opens every time I go to sleep). Almost Love was so caught up at work, it disappeared completely, only to return with frozen heart and thick ego. Almost Love left, and never return.
Instead, love came as a friend that called me when it was over 2 AM, rambling about how inconvenient their current job is and how impossible it is to find a place to rent. Love came as a friend, sleeping over when I feel like sharing my bed and my thoughts. Love came as a friend, ready to be at my beck and call whenever loneliness strikes its bullet straight to my soul. Love came as a friend that talks with a whisper and a sigh, tired and worn with this materialistic and consumerist world, but they never failed to support me. Love came as a friend, whenever I feel tired, they will take over the wheel and let me rest, no questions asked. Love came as a friend, sipping my tea and finishing up all of my leftover chips, and they would say "it's enough." Love came as a friend, still awake at midnight, waiting for me to send pictures of things that I want to buy. Love came as a friend, armed with hairties, bubblegums, and healing salves. Love came as a friend, lent me their shoulders, irreplaceable time, and warmest hugs.
Maybe my preferred version of love has not arrived yet; their plane maybe got delayed or they even haven't booked any ticket yet. Maybe my preferred version of love is still sitting on a bench near a buss stop, pondering whether or not the journey is worth it. Maybe my preferred version of love is sleeping on the wrong bed, thinking that it is where they are meant to be (and to be completely honest I do not blame them). Maybe my preferred version of love does not exist.
Maybe, I was not meant to say, "Welcome love, enjoy your stay."