Do You Love Me?
Today I learnt something, I learnt that Love is something precious (I mean like duh, of course everybody knows this). But I learnt that Love is more than just a cursory bout of happiness, Love is more than just kisses and electric, Love is more than just smiles and good-natured banter; Love is making sacrifices, Love is giving someone your time -- and it is the greatest thing that his/her significant other should be appreciative of, because you are giving away a portion of your life that you will never get back.
And it is sad how people don't realise or appreciate when you put them in your priority. Better yet, think you are needy for attention. Is it selfish to be happy? It might just be. We are all suffering. But we are suffering together in unison - even if we are struggling to see with all the dust and fire in our eyes.
And it is sad how people don't realise or appreciate when you put them in your priority. Better yet, think you are needy for attention. Is it selfish to be happy? It might just be. We are all suffering. But we are suffering together in unison - even if we are struggling to see with all the dust and fire in our eyes.
A brutal and unsortable chaotic mess
In retrospect, that one-hour long conversation I had on the phone with D made me realise that maybe I should adapt to be more taciturn and sparing in this relationship because what I was feeling was far overwhelming and consuming our love. Sensitive, I faced the constant struggle of rationalising that you were wrong and the seething urge to make you learn; teaching you how to love me. I guess I was wrong. These emotions are just too big for you to handle; they fill up the room, expanding and suffocating and pressing against all the corners. Alas, I know that you would grow tired of my constant paraxysms of fury, the need to be pacified and validated. So keeping mum would be good wouldn't it. My feelings of anger and hatred are unhealthy, afterall.
You feel too much, but you bottle it all up; hidden words compounded in a deep labyrinthine till you feel compressed with every unsaid string of sentence. But you just can't share; every other sentence would be fuelled by some backdrop of sorrow contempt, envy, some element of you trying to get out for some notice; and people would be sick of you.
Why did the jelly wobble?
This afternoon I was having a casual conversation with Ben and he brought this up:
Feeling so nettled that things have been on the downside with you these days. It kills me inside when I know (or perhaps I think I know) I'm just trying to help, but I end up making a mess of it even more. I wonder what is the magnitude of this love that we may share. Can we measure in terms of actions, or hearts on a balance scale?
"Your mind is like a library. Except the books in your library do not hold the answers to the unanswered questions. It only creates more questions. One door closes, another door opens. You're a mystery."
"Well, I thought I was quite an open book."
"Not really. Your book has hidden messages. It is too dark and encrypted to decipher."
It is true. I have grown to have this innate nature to think too much and over-analyse every situation, and even before a problem can be fixed, I would find more faults and flaws to pick on. I hate feeling like this. It's like when you're little, and you get separated from your parents in a carnival. There's nothing but extreme panic and overwhelming fear. You have no control, but you keep looking and hoping, but you can't find them, and you don't know what to do.. and you're all alone.
Feeling so nettled that things have been on the downside with you these days. It kills me inside when I know (or perhaps I think I know) I'm just trying to help, but I end up making a mess of it even more. I wonder what is the magnitude of this love that we may share. Can we measure in terms of actions, or hearts on a balance scale?
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