I wish she would give it back to me. I am a fool without it, and yet I am also a fool with it. But she insists on keeping it and I’m easily persuaded to let her toy with it by the general sentimentality of it all. However, I must admit this has desperately affected my disposition and thus I have grown to develop a fixation over mending this flawed circumstance. My life is now a constant contemplation of this affair and I am trying terribly hard to climb out of its stubborn grip.
To be honest, I am aware of her constantly; her magnetic gaze is incessant and I cannot help but return the favor with a blatant stare. Or perhaps it is I who is caught staring in the first place and she is merely throwing me an indication of bewildered confusion. It is perplexing, and I must stress that it is all due to her tenacity of withdrawing from giving back to me what was rightfully and initially mine. Initially. Why she decided to take it in the first place is beyond me. I do remember that she did not definitely make a precise choice to steal it, but alas I have not received any apology or reconciliation in respect of the confliction this matter has caused me. I am truthfully distressed.
I really do want to point out the significance that I sincerely do not give a damn how awfully beautiful she is. Or how immensely sweet and bright her persona appears in its ability to withstand the dull pigment of the world. Her sweetness is a delusion. Inside she probably feeds on immorality and wickedness like a cold lemonade on a summer’s day. It is my job to not fall victim to this deception. It is a personal duty to not let weakness overcome my true strength of facing her and asking her to return what belongs in my possession. For it has remained in her hands for an excessive amount of time and I realize that it would be the most suitable time to grab it back now while I have the chance. And the courage.
I feel as if my eyes are clouded with fantasy day and night. I have to forget that I like her. I have to remind myself I do not feel inclined towards her. Even though I see her domineeringly pretty face loom in my mind and I can never shake the image away, it should not mean anything. It does not mean anything. But I can feel it deep inside and I often try to suppress it. One cannot stop feeling. But one can ebb the feeling into nothingness slowly by a certain process of training and pretending.
She is simple. She is unimaginative. She is ordinary. Nothing special.
The monotony of this mental routine frequently works for awhile, and eventually I have really made myself believe in this made-up truth. Thus, the truth then becomes reality and I can move on and persevere through my life.
My separate life. It’s a brainwashing process through dissolving emotions. Emotions are spontaneous and harshly ardent and strong, but if I can sustain this oppression over them like a dark shadow, they are able to hide away in permanent cowardice so as not to distract me from the things that really matter. This…this thing that eats away at me. This notion that pulls at my mind and picks at it as a bird does to a feeder. This thing is not important to me. Seeing myself holding hands with her does not make me feel anything; imagining me making her feel happiness; visualizing us—it’s all for fun. Nothing truly beautiful really ever lasts. For I see myself in a crazed vision of bliss, but the fog clears and I realize that it isn’t my fingers interlaced with hers; it isn’t me making her laugh; there is no us. I am watching someone else entertain her with honesty and care like a movie role I had failed the audition for. The fact is, though, I didn’t even audition. I did not dare to say what had been manifesting inside of me out loud. I guess sitting back and watching is my allotted position. I am in the audience, and I am silently sinking into my seat of silence as the movie flickers before my eyes.
I thought that her keeping it would satisfy me for awhile. That somehow things would change and I would get my chance. That I could embrace this opportunity like one holds onto the thought of the sun in a tunnel of darkness. But I realize I am motionless without it. With it in her grasp, I cannot move forward. I am a machine moving backwards, and I need it to reverse my direction.
I can only wish it would happen. Does it not seem the time is right for her to return my heart back to me?
