A Malleable Reality.

I do not know if anyone else has loved somebody with all that he/she has. 

This is mainly why everything has been so hard for me. From the looks of things, "we" are a lost cause. I am trying to run away from the pain through friends. This works, but only for so often. There is the sad truth that even friends cannot be there all the time because they, too, have lives to live. During these times where I sit alone, I face my misery and cry. This sucks but it's just how it is. I cannot play the strong card and pretend. Because I am not strong enough despite what everybody else says. I fail to grasp the belief that anyone ever is.

But it really was my fault. Had I not been how I was, things would never have gone the way the have. What we had was beautiful and I ruined it slowly, like poison. Until the day came when I woke up and the man who loved me more than anything was all used up. Fed up. Gone. Distant. I cannot really blame him for how he has become now. I turned a wonderful thing into a tiring routine of quarreling and broken hearts. But this is not to say that I did not do all that I could do to make up for it. Because I did, and I did so quite clearly. Sadly, though, as he puts it -- it's too late. So I guess that's it. A sad ending courtesy of myself and no one else.

I am weighing my options and frankly, I cannot let other people [my family included] down. So, I'll stay [here] however hard it might be. I will try to keep focused on working, though I know that it would not be easy. I will try. To fill the gaps I am still thinking about what to do with all the free time I now have (since before this I only really work one to two hours a day, tops, and still make a good earning). Maybe I'll try something else. Maybe I won't. As of now, I really do not know. 

I loved and I got hurt. Again. It would have been a hell lot easier since I have been in these shoes many times before. But I realize now that a girl never really learns much no matter how numerous her heartaches are to date. We're a stubborn bunch.

The greatest problem is that we live together, and there is no contesting that. There is no valid argument. We live in the same home, sleep in the same bed, share the same closet, have the same hamper. We breathe the same air, feel the same heat. So what now?

I don't know. Maybe I'll keep loving him. Maybe I'll keep hoping. Maybe someday he would be nothing more than another roommate. We may even end up as [good?] friends. 

All these questions! And all there is is but one answer: I don't know. Quite frankly, right now, I'm okay with that. The pain is constant but that's good. It reminds me I am human, not some demigod, all powerful and shit. And one day, I will forget about it. Or at least, how it feels. 

Safe and Sound.

There is a very fine line between loving someone and falling in love.

(I know, right? Another love post. Don't bother reading. Go on to the next blog, please.)

(Okay. Then.)

I miss the feeling of bliss - that feeling when nothing else matters. I know all of this has been said and done at some point by a gazillion others, yet I stay firm on this ground. I could have written something better, something different, something unwritten before, perhaps a great idea that could make the world a better place and create that "change" all of us have been singing since before Clapton. But here I stay. It must be the hormones, must be that time of the month, or the fact that I have just seen the most honest music video from (I'm sorry...) Taylor Swift. I think it was more of the backing vocals (and guitars, by The Civil Wars) that created a lump in my throat. I am pretty certain it wasn't Coke nor the prawn crackers. It was the music. Stop investigating! Okay. Good. Now that we have established that...

The difference. Yes.

Loving somebody has kept me breathing for most of my life. Maybe it has, for most of us. And while all of the excessive melodrama is indeed unnecessary in this world, I cannot erase the fact that sometimes a girl just needs something extra. I have cursed fairy tales and all their bullshit very long ago. But in a very hidden, buried, area inside me streams a hopeful light that the promise of passionate and everlasting love that these children's bed time stories does exist.

This phenomenon is rare, ever since the men providing the services have become such scarcity. (What the hell is up with that, anyway? Explain.) It may even be the case that this type of love (erkkk.) cannot be easily discriminated from the usual forms. And as I go an blabbering on this digital papyrus the clearer it appears that words would not suffice - no matter how sophisticated or several - to exemplify what I'm trying to say. People can remain in relationships for months, years, lifetimes. Yet there are those which never really feel the greatest love of their life. I would like to believe that I may be one of these unfortunates, trodding on the existential company and satisfaction that a stable relationship can provide, flowing through a river of perfected rituals and memorized routines of one another, keeping in mind that possibly, this could be all that there is to love.

Well. How convenient. I think I'm done here for tonight.
Tune in for my pending plan on conquering the world. Thanks. Take care now.