When I was young, I thought to myself,
When I am older, everything will all make sense.
It doesn't matter if my lips hasn't touched another, it's okay that my grades aren't spectacular, because I'll get there...I'll be stable, I'll finally feel whole with my accomplishments I made in my lifetime.
I'll have someone who cares about me in an emotionally intimate kind of way, to make me feel like I matter. To go to the job of my dreams in the morning only to come back down to earth and be with that person who makes me feel as if I have wings. And with those wings, I'd fly into an oblivion of ecstasy every time our bare skin brushed against each other, reminding me that home is wherever you are. That my very sanity hangs in a balancing act of your voice, the way you would call my name as you fell apart as we reached the crescendo of which our were bodies connected, when they'd finally became one.
I was fourteen.
Looking back I realized that I know now that I've always been a hopeless romantic. But now I get frantic, with want of things I can't manage, with this heart that is deeply damaged..
This heart, that was once so desperate for companionship, is now sentenced to life for killing time.
For that was then and this is now where freedom comes at a cost and my heart can't afford to love you.
