Shambled and Sought For
"Are you sure what you are experiencing is love?" you asked me.
I tried to laugh it off. Everything seemed to be in shambled: the world, my country, your city, our workplaces, and my head—but the first thing you asked was this? How could this shadowed everything? All the mess in the world did not seem to matter when you were being questioned about your capability and capacity to love.
"What other thing hurts me more than that? Pulled you apart, sewn you back in, with barely enough time for breathing? What other things that are crazier than that?" I berated, smiling even though I knew, my smile did not reach my eyes.
"Infatuation?"
My smile faltered. Three layers of clothing and you managed to make me feel cold. I despised your ability to do this.
"Even if it was not love—are feelings real, if you can't name them or describe them?" I countered.
Our fingers danced over the empty cups of tea we each had, but yours were dancing too close to the edge, as if you were desperately trying to summon another batch of tea. Your magic used to work, many exchanged glances ago when we were only separated by an adjoining wall, not a lifetime. How did it come to this?
"So it is not real?" you asked, biting your bottom lip.
"It had always been real for me—I could never say the same thing for you." I replied, finally letting myself acknowledge the truth that I used to despise.
You let out a loud breath. "Are you blaming me for your feelings?"
"I would never do that. My feelings for you had always been self-initiated. The motivations came from within. Always something about you, about the thought of us together, that made the feelings bloomed even brighter. I had always wished for something more. There were days when I felt like I could burst out with the intensity, but there were also days when I felt like my energy got drained just because of everything that I felt for you. It was selfish of me for wanting you to understand about this supernova, but you could have at least acknowledged my feelings."
You whispered quietly, "Then what do you want from me?"
"It was never what I wanted from you. It always had been about what I could provoke you. I would never want to have anything that was given forcefully. I only sought for clarity. Apparently that is the only thing that you could never give me," I sighed, "None of this matters anymore. I will always think of you whenever I need a reminder how winning myself over look like."
I tried to laugh it off. Everything seemed to be in shambled: the world, my country, your city, our workplaces, and my head—but the first thing you asked was this? How could this shadowed everything? All the mess in the world did not seem to matter when you were being questioned about your capability and capacity to love.
"What other thing hurts me more than that? Pulled you apart, sewn you back in, with barely enough time for breathing? What other things that are crazier than that?" I berated, smiling even though I knew, my smile did not reach my eyes.
"Infatuation?"
My smile faltered. Three layers of clothing and you managed to make me feel cold. I despised your ability to do this.
"Even if it was not love—are feelings real, if you can't name them or describe them?" I countered.
Our fingers danced over the empty cups of tea we each had, but yours were dancing too close to the edge, as if you were desperately trying to summon another batch of tea. Your magic used to work, many exchanged glances ago when we were only separated by an adjoining wall, not a lifetime. How did it come to this?
"So it is not real?" you asked, biting your bottom lip.
"It had always been real for me—I could never say the same thing for you." I replied, finally letting myself acknowledge the truth that I used to despise.
You let out a loud breath. "Are you blaming me for your feelings?"
"I would never do that. My feelings for you had always been self-initiated. The motivations came from within. Always something about you, about the thought of us together, that made the feelings bloomed even brighter. I had always wished for something more. There were days when I felt like I could burst out with the intensity, but there were also days when I felt like my energy got drained just because of everything that I felt for you. It was selfish of me for wanting you to understand about this supernova, but you could have at least acknowledged my feelings."
You whispered quietly, "Then what do you want from me?"
"It was never what I wanted from you. It always had been about what I could provoke you. I would never want to have anything that was given forcefully. I only sought for clarity. Apparently that is the only thing that you could never give me," I sighed, "None of this matters anymore. I will always think of you whenever I need a reminder how winning myself over look like."