The Art of Holding On (Book 3)

Voice003.mp4

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Love is nothing but a graveyard where human hearts are buried underneath. Some hearts can flourish and grow into wonderful trees; but most of them are unfortunate... they end up rotting with worms. 

You must think that mine had been buried deeper than those rotting hearts but let me tell you this instead: you are wrong. Surprise! I am walking on the ground, with my heart on my chest, alive and kicking like I've been reborn again. I see these hearts, aching or laughing, I cannot distinguish, every time my foot touches the ground and I wave to them, because hello there babies, I've been there and I don't want to be in the same place twice.

I have never been so happier.

I have read somewhere that conscience... is a triangular thing located inside your heart. And it spins endlessly whenever you do a wrong deed so the pointed sides end up hurting you. I am not taking credit for anything like what I did with the well of happiness; that story, at least, is fully mine. I made that up. This story about the human's conscience isn't, so hello there author, it's nice seeing your piece in mine. And each time you repeat the wrong deed, the triangular conscience keeps on spinning, until you get used to the pain, like it was never there in the first place. The pain does not really go away; you just end up ignoring it. Suck the information up, lovelies.

I don't see anyone but him. My eyes automatically fly towards his direction, and I realize more how much I'm willing to sacrifice for this man. The triangular thing doesn't hurt anymore; and love isn't all thorns and ugly roots, of course. Why would I sacrifice everything that I have if not for this kind of happiness?

Okay, there you go again, that I deserve someone better, that I should be off alone, that I should never mess with a married man. But all mistresses might have turned a blind eye on that damn reminder on their loved ones' fingers: he is not a married man. He is just the man I love and all societal norms should not get in the way of love.

The scene finishes. Everyone goes near the catering service to get their food, but I refuse to stand up. He approaches me, taps my shoulder because I have not yet moved from my chair, and with that simple gesture, I know that my full sky are painted with his daydreams.

Kumain ka na?

Hindi pa.

Hindi ka gutom?

Gutom.

Eh bakit 'di ka pa tumayo dyan?

Iniintay kita.

Hn.

He smiles at me. He looks around and upon seeing that everyone is busy eating, he kisses my nose.

Don't wait anymore; I'm already here.

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