We might as well get there, one way or another

So staying up late and gulping down caffeines kind of makes me feel like being drunk okay. And this spinning Story of Pine is not getting me nowhere because my life is already in chaos.

So it’s like, life is short okay? That’s why we stay up late and smoke weeds and hook up and have fun and cry and laugh at the same time right? How could you even have time to ponder about what to do? Like, after all the times I’ve fucked up I’m trying my best to be patient, because “Patient is a fucking virtue” they said, but NO I CAN’T!

Do you know how hard it is to not say the words? I mean, no matter who or what you are it’s still a freaking burden to keep it all to yourself, your feelings, your twisted longing to touch to kiss to inhale to memorize that object of infatuation who’s driving you nuts. It’s not those kind of burdens that help you fly like wings, no. They’re like lead in your blood, like cement that concreted around your legs that pulls you down so deep so far gone. Keeping them within is like holding your breath, holding it for so long that your body begins to tremble, and starts to seize, and you’d end up being suffocated by your own breath.

So no, it has to be done, and said, and shouted out to the world right? So he/she would know, and for a moment hopefully that person would appreciate your love, before they brush it off their shoulders like a breath of snow.

These thoughts actually pump me up and make me just wanna run up and kiss him there tomorrow at work. Or I could be more secluded, I would walk with him to his apartment that night, staying safe in the coat of night, saying the words in a veil of frost, that I want him, I want us. How I would stake it all for only a fragment of hope. Yet that, is not how things work.

Considering how things were first looked over and pondered for months, why did I decided to remain silent anyway? Given unrequited lust would torture my soul, how sure I am that being rejected would not kill me?

For the worst bet as it is and the stakes are high, there’d be possibility that the moment our lips touch, all hell’d break loose. There’d be screaming and pushing and fighting, and fire, and hail of hatreds. And all would break, burn, and end.

No, I wouldn’t be happy with that either.

Indeed, I’d be devastated.

So might I seal it up, and take it slow. And might I find a way to put it down, or at least turn it into something smoldering, something that wouldn’t burst out from inside and flare up my rib cage, turn me into ashes from the inside out.

Might I find a way to settle for the second best. Because being friends feels good. And as good as it could be, we might have some accidentally on purpose touching, or brushing. Or for some moments let the common senses of personal space fall into oblivion, we could put out lips so close, would study our own reflections in each other’s eyes, and as long as our lips don’t touch, all will be fine. And that’d be as good. That’s be the second best.

And we might as well get there, to the closeness we craved, to have red strings hooked everywhere, but never attached.

If not this way, then another way.

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Some mad hopes.

I want our hello/good–bye hugs to be a few beats longer than a casual friend hug,
but never so long that it becomes a lovers embrace.

I had a chance to see for the first time of my life the violet sunset at the beach when I went on my reclusive trip to Cancun on thanksgiving. If I hadn’t see it I wouldn’t have believed that the thing actually existed. The burning lights when the sun went down reflected with the blue water created a very warm, soothing color. The color of magic and mysteries and nostalgia, it coated the whole view as if somebody had casted a spell and let it spread out to the endless sea. The beauty left me stunned in awe of how precious nature could be, and at the same time, filled me up with some mad hopes.

Magic, myths, superheroes…those are just the emphasizing of dreams and hopes of human kind, for things that were hard, irrational or even lunatic, to become easier to believe in. There are hopes that boosts our thoughts, gives us strength and encourages us to keep on. There are also hopes that kills us, tearing us apart but we can’t chase them away just because we can’t stop those who keeps pouring them in. Because it is painfully easy how a small spark could just simply ignite the explosion of the jammed damp, blowing them all off for hope to rush in, flooding our mind and drowning us.

That spark could simply be a brush, a smile, or just some unintended teases or flirtations that would start it. It could be the shortest of a “goodnight” text, no punctuation, no capitalization. It could be the longest of the 240 miles distant conversation which was only about how pretty the stars were and how the signal sucked staying in the cabin. It would just simply start it. A small candle light that lit up the condensed darkness that we had tried so hard blocking all the lights from coming in, to keep us from longing for the greatest good. From dreaming instead of sleeping.

One should acknowledge that giving out hopes is a crime. Especially when such hopes would do nothing but lead the others to nowhere, and they would soon exhaust and break and cease to exist on the road of self-deluding.

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Sickness called love

All of a sudden everything stops making senses. Yeah, welcome back to the ruthless world of love. As it has always been, love has never failed to drive you crazy. It’s so ambiguous and you just don’t know how to figure out when it’d sneak into your life or would just never pass by.

Yet of course as silly as we are, everybody more than once in their life has dreamed about love. We always long for it, wondering when it would come. Then when it seems like you’re in one, you start questioning is that it, is this how it supposed to be or are you missing something? But the thing is, if you couldn’t even tell if love is there in your life, how could you tell if it’s not there?

Tough question huh?

Well, for all the things you’ve heard, it’d be a little cliché if I say that love is always there; it exists in the name of family relationships, friendship and ships… (if you know what i mean lol) but we all know that those kinds of relationships are not what we actually crave for. What we want is that kind of intoxicating affection that wounds us yet at the same time injects us with its own addictive venom so we would long for more.

And what we want is not always good for us.

Of course as vogue as a flu would be, love hits us when our emotional system fails to protect us, the same way our immune system won’t work against the flu when you’ve already been touch by the host individual. He brushes by you once, and everything goes tumbling down. And since then you keep analyzing everything he does even when he never meant anything by that.

Then there would come a long agonizing days you have to undergo with him constantly on your mind. Though you know best that it’s unhealthy and not good at all you just can’t get it off. And you start to misinterpret all the things he says, everything seems to be a sign of hope to you. Yet too bad it was nothing more than an exact bunch of wishful thoughts. And you’re eaten by it.

Scary enough? Don’t worry! There’s always preventions and cures. Pfttt what did I just say? I was kidding! THERE IS NO CURE FOR LOVESICKNESS JUST SO YOU KNOW.

But we can’t stay being afraid forever. And the best way to get through this is to jump in and let yourself beaten, crushed and grounded so you would learn to embrace yourself before falling into another pit of devastating evil called love.

It breaks, it burns so that it could end.

I am such a ranting mess.

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