Waiting for Nothing

Someone's bound to get hurt

Where there is desire 

There is gonna be a flame 

Where there is a flame 

Someone’s bound to get burned 

But just because it burns 

Doesn’t mean you’re gonna die 

You’ve gotta get up and try try try 

Gotta get up and try try try 

You gotta get up and try try try 

It’s sickening for me that I became that girl – the love-struck, blinded and naïve girl falling for the very epitome of player. Maybe that’s life greatest irony. Being the person you said you’d never be. I saw it in the movies, heard about it in the celebrity gossip news, and read about how it jades people’s existence possibly for life. It’s easy to kid yourself in highs school that cheating in exams is no big deal; you dare at your own risk and hurt no one but yourself. But they never tell you that cheating outside the academe has worse repercussions: you don’t just hurt yourself but you hurt those who you never wanted to hurt.

Suddenly, I was this third person in a supposedly twosome love equation. I was the third person in the photo who was supposed to die. I am the hidden monster. I am the dirty, scarlet woman. I am the desperate and soulless being who thrived on deceiving a kind, warm hearted female medical student who’s committed to children.

And the extremely awful part is that I didn’t want to be. This isn’t how I envisioned love to be in those few moments I actual let myself dream that it could indeed turn out majestic as they point it in the those sappy novels.

This isn’t who I wanted to be.

This isn’t me.

I fought hard. I struggled to silence those voices in my head telling me that I miss you and that I deserve to be happy. I wrestled with the thought that you’ll leave your childhood love for me. I trashed those instinctive reactions to call you when I ace another recitation in my law classes or to drop by your college dorm late at night with a pizza and some old, sappy movie. I tried to kill that evil witch in my head telling me that it’s okay to be the other woman just because I love you, even if I know my soul will rot in hell.

I tried, God knows I did.

Even if it hurt badly. Even if I thought of no one else but you. Even if there were times I wished that I never met you. Even when I hoped that we lived in another space and time. Even when I avoided the places and the people I loved just to lessen the chances that I will see you and give in. 

I tried, I really did.

But it wasn’t easy, and I am not making excuses. You show up in my apartment drenched with the rain telling me you love me, and that somehow we’ll be able to fix it. You call and leave at least 10 messages in my voicemail with a simple plea that I give you a chance to make it right. You leave post-its all over my front door with messages of why you love me. And the lover in me, the part of me that loved you very much, that part that knew that you were the one I have been waiting for all my life was set free.