(i)
there was this night last summer that i hadn't mentally prepared myself for. like a turbulent wave, it swept everything off the shore. in a way, this demolition was the genesis of something that would plague my mind for the days to come. skepticism always infiltrates its way into your consciousness right at the moment when you start to believe that you have everything ━ for once, at the right place; under your control. it's a matter of precariousness. the moment where you juggle between what you've always believed to be true and what has started to feel real. attachment, devotion, and friendship ━ all have one thing in common i.e. love. when the lines between these start to blur and you're left wretched for a love that never was yours ━ the cognitive catastrophe is inevitable.
(ii)
that night was no less than a battle ━ my feebled attempts to hold onto love and to not admit about being in another love. we talk about lovers who betray, who scar your flesh with your blood on their hands. we talk about the lovers who make it to the end. we rejoice with them. we root for them. we cry for some. it's messy and complicated, sometimes filthy and corrupt. we don't talk about the bruises that stain our skin (your lover's kiss) while we're falling out of love. we talk about it as if it's easy; as if it happens naturally; as if we aren't breaking inside each passing moment. the agitation that drains in your veins when you're struggling to hold on, to love as you used to, to depend on them ━ almost burns your insides. watching everything fade away because there's nothing you can do to stop, to reverse the process. it'd be so easy if you just had to say the words to get back to what was. it'd be so easy if only this story started in reverse. it doesn't. you're drenched with guilt that doesn't wash away. you're the antagonist of your own love story.
