The Brain is Never at Rest

10

And when I wrote your name in capital letters, trust me when I say that at five, I already knew I was willing to marry you; that if you will ask me while we played in the park if I would want to marry you - I would not think twice and immediately utter the words 'I do.' I was in love with you as early as five years old. 'Twas a puppy love, they say. Nothing serious; purely imaginative. Of course, no one would take a five-year-old little girl's confession seriously. Only the girls my age would scream and think of it as romantic because we were all equally naive - they say.

But when I put your favorite song on my favorite playlist at fifteen, I knew that what I felt at five was not an imagination nor a puppy love. It was a preparation - a chance to brace myself for the real thing at fifteen. Because by that time, I knew that if you will invite me to run away with you, I already had a backpack with the things I need, and a letter to tell my parents that I'm ready to take a huge step in life with you. Yet still, no one would take a 15-year-old's adoration seriously. People would say we are too you to feel this way. Girls my age would laugh at me if they found out I was willing to give my all for love - they would think that it was stupid. Stupid and naive.

At 25, I could finally say I was solemnly and sacredly in love with you. I even published a book of poems 205 pages all dedicated to you. I was ready to face the life of a married woman, a mother of two, and a future with you. Twenty-five was the ideal marrying age, and I knew I could sit all day and tell the planners what kind of flowers we'll be using, and how we'd want to do it in the garden, with both of our families watching us write our book to forever. But by 25, you weren't there anymore. I cannot see you, but I can feel you.

And at 25, I wish I already married you at five.