Hope

forever written



I always think that one day, when I can read the poetry and the stories that I write to someone out loud, that's when I could finally say that I found the best solace for my soul who once craved for that one true love. That's the time I could say to myself that I found the happiness that will no longer leave and make me cry at night.

But there are times that I'm afraid. I know that love requires risks. So many challenges and sacrifices are certainly going to be a massive question of whether I could do it or not. I get scared but at the same time, I crave.

I badly want to prove to myself that there is love and that it's wonderful. I want to see it in the eyes of people that come into my life, but then . . . I find myself asking questions again. Why does love have to disappear? Why do people have to change and let love run away from their grip?  And I would find myself lost, telling myself that love is not a cure-all after all; that I am only fooling myself into believing that there is love because it never existed in the first place. And those questions would go on and on until it becomes a mystery

— a mystery that I grew tired of seeking answers to.

But bit by bit, my perspective about it changed. Or, maybe, it just went back to the way it was when I was that young girl innocently receiving love and never questioning its existence and supremacy; that love can be puzzling and wonderful at the same time. It helps, changes, and improves people to do bigger, to love deeper, and to be better.

Whenever my view of love is shaken by what I see with several people whose faith and loyalty are tested and twisted and turned into something monstrous, I always remind myself that there is love and it will find me someday.

I always remind myself in silence that I will get to read my written masterpieces to someone who deeply and truly understands the pain of my poem, the wounds that wouldn't easily be patched, the bruises in my heart that would take long years to heal, and the agonizing path I had to go through to be able to shape the person that I am today. I will get to read and share my pain with someone who cares about my silence and the words I haven't told to anyone. I will finally be safe in the arms of someone who will never slap me with my flaws and love every part of it instead.

The long, emotionally-driven paragraphs that I struggle writing every night will finally come to life and be heard. The sleepless night will turn into a peaceful night, the tears of pain will turn into tears of joy, and all the emptiness that I had suffered will finally come to end.

And it slowly puts me at peace until I fall asleep.

I guess, it has now become a cycle to do whenever I unintentionally ask myself those questions. It has become an endless reminder that wakes me up from my drowning moments.

I wonder if we write the same story, if we wonder the same thing, if we think about each other, or if we are just two missing pieces waiting to be found, just like the missing pieces of a puzzle waiting to be matched.

I am at this phase where I seek many questions and find answers on my own. But if we ever meet and my eyes are looking down, I wish to have time to get back to you and look into your eyes and see how they sparkle like mine. And if our silent hopes and unsaid words happen to intertwine, I will gladly go back to this specific chapter of my life and smile at the mere fact that I waited patiently for the perfect time.

But hey, let's keep on holding on because I believe that someday, our paths would soon cross and we would have our own happy story that doesn't have a tragic ending. We would both be comforted in the lifelong genre we would create, and someday would be two successful writers writing our candid love stories with different roads taken by two brave souls.