The final cut.

July 26, 2014 § 10 Comments

“It’s fucked up.”

“I want to die.”

“Nothing makes sense to me anymore. Everything seems absurd, like Camus described in The Myth of Sisyphus.”
“It’s the book talking, not you.”

“No really. I’ve lost purpose and reason. And that zeal to live too. That ‘life’ that kept me alive has rusted.”
“What do you want?”

“I want to lie beside him, read books, cook for him, travel with him, be with him. And I want to be loved.”
“There are people who love you!”

“I don’t want them. Barring my immediate family, I don’t want anyone. Anyone, but him.”
“He doesn’t want you.”

“That’s the problem. That’s why all I want to do is drown in this whirlpool of misery and find the black pit that will eat me up.”
“Are you reading too much shit?”

“I haven’t been reading at all. I feel like Sylvia Plath.”


“When I realized that he doesn’t love me the way I want to be loved.”
“So? He isn’t obliged to!”

“I know, but I’m tired of this one-sided non-existent relationship.”
“There will NEVER be one.”

“You realize that this is exactly what’s killing me, right?”
“You gotta face it baby. You’re not his cup of tea.”

“I don’t want to be anyone’s cup of tea. I want to be the bed they sleep in every night, or the arms that holds them while the sun goes up every morning.”
“Cliché. Touché. Get over it.”

“I am in love. I can’t.”
“He is that bird who won’t settle down for you.”

“I’m not asking him to settle down. I want to fly with him too.”
“He prefers solitude.”

“I won’t disturb his solitude. Our solitude’s can mate.”
“You’re going to get hurt.”

“Well I am hurt and bruised and broken.”
“Pull yourself together.”

“It’s hard to do.”
“You’re rigid.”

“I’m in love.”
“Fine stay in love. With a man doesn’t care about your existence most days. Who isn’t aware of what you’re going through. Who isn’t with you, but isn’t away from you either. Who would probably beat the life out of you. Who, even if in love, would not step out of his shell to say it out loud. Who is enjoying all the attention and love you’re giving him, without expecting him to give it a name. Who will NEVER EVER love you back the way you love him.

That’s when my heart melted and picked up that knife to make The Final Cut.

Unrequited love : Epilogue.

July 4, 2014 § 9 Comments

I love you too.

So much that I can’t even put it to words.

So much that it consumes me.
So much that some nights I sleep with the idea of you.

So much that most mornings I wake up next to you.

So much that if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have known me.

So much that every dialogue, every memory is clearly etched in my memory.

So much that I’m going to spend the rest of my life knowing that I once felt a love this pure, this strong.

And now so much, that I’ll die with the knowledge that it wasn’t unrequited after all.

Where Am I?

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