I read somewhere that everyone everywhere protects their heart to a certain extent. We lock it up, then hide the key somewhere safe. Everyone has a spot like this. But how do we know whether we’re locking the bad guys up or locking ourselves in? How do we know we’re not doing it so often we’re indirectly doing both? What happens then?
Sometimes it rains and it stops. Sometimes, it rains and it never stops. These are the two kinds of rain.
The first drops hits your skin, and it’s refreshing: A reminder as to how good the weather was before that and would be again. And while you walk the rain starts to get heavier and pelts hard into your eyes. You find that everything else is bleary, and nothing is as important to you as getting yourself out of the rain. You can’t see. You can’t see anything at all, because with the rain in your eyes, you’re as good as blind.
Every step you take just splashes more mud onto your caked ankles and slippers, and every drop of rain stings and freezes the blood in your veins. You don’t know where you are, you don’t know where you’re going, and you don’t know how to get out of the rain. You trip on a rock and end up with mud on your face.
You’re lost and all alone. You feel as if you’re drowning, the rain falling harder and harder and beating frantic panic tempos on your skull, and the world around you a roaring storm of emotional debris and hail. You can’t so much as breathe without getting the rainwater up your nose. It hurts.
This is the kind of rain that seems to go on forever.
This is the kind of rain that only God can get you out of.
I’ve seen so many other people do this same dance and wind up sitting in the corner sobbing their hearts out, exhausted from over two years of unrequited effort and dedication. Yet, despite all arguments pointing me in the other direction, I came to you anyway; and here I am, an equal part of a ridiculous tango of obsession bordering on insanity.
What can I say, I’ve been attracted to you from the very start. Even when I first met you years and years ago, when I was still a(n) (even younger) kid, I knew that I would never ever be satisfied with a surface relationship with you. Despite not dealing with the issue there and then, I can’t say the feeling went away entirely. The moment I saw another chance with you, there I was by your side again, waiting for the magic only you can bring me.
For a long while after that, things were the best they had ever been. Now, because of your unreasonable demands and your unwillingness to compromise, we’re stuck in this rut. Yet now I find myself wondering what to do about you when I’m out with my friends, I find your wellbeing on my mind everywhere I go, and I can’t wait to simply get back to your side again. Time with you just passes at the speed of light, and there never seems to be enough time just for the two of us; but even then, you are forever uncooperative and make so many messes for me to clean up by myself.
I love you. I hate you. I love you. I hate you.
Oh my art coursework. I can’t wait to get rid of you once and for all.
My holidays are slipping through my fingers like sand. They’re gonna be gone in no time. And one day I’ll look back and think “Hmm, why didn’t I ever do more with my time during the holidays?”
Disclaimer: This post is a compilation of thoughts at 1:30am in the morning, and is therefore suitably random and at times has no connection with the other paragraphs.
Sometimes I feel like I’ve come so far from my sec1 days. Sometimes I see people who were in my previous position and I think, Hey, I can totally relate to that. But to be honest, nobody really believes that do they?
Even I don’t believe that. I mean, if someone says something that has never happened to you, however close they are to you, you won’t be able to understand. Sure, you’d comprehend the idea in general, but you’d never really understand unless you’ve been in that very position itself. Sympathy is one thing. Understanding is another. Understanding comes with feeling the very same emotions, the very same situation, the very similar experience.
Sympathy is comforting. But understanding, I think, would come from a whole different level that I have never experienced as yet because I have never found anyone that similar to me.
There’s so many people in the world, but nobody’s perfect and everyone’s flawed. If you find a person you like in this messed up world, you’re lucky. And if you happen to find one who likes you back, you’re blessed. That’s what friends are for. They make you realise you’re so blessed.
Yes, we were holding three icecreams (i screamed. and everyone stared. cheee.)
chatters