There was a beauty in the certainty we had in our relationship's eventual failure. Cynicism is often framed as being unpleasant or as some sort of burden. Well, we were just two cynics in love. Everything was wonderful for just that reason because, after all, we expected nothing. And, thus, we found beauty in everything. Even our numerous squabbles, for we knew that we were prepared for an end.
Yet, we couldn't protect our attitudes forever. Soon enough, our relationship, initially founded on a notion of "why the hell not?" and feelings we weren't sure were real, became expected. And while the beauty of our cynicism was lost to that, we thought that we had found a new sort.
We hadn't.
Part of my heart yearns for either stage of what we had to return to life.
But a greater part of me has come to believe that we were never even in love.
I thought that we had found something amazing, something new and different that no one had ever felt or known to exist.
I was wrong-the way I felt was commonplace. My and attitudes were the product of an unimpressive combination of average feelings and reactions. Just as a recipe for a yellow cake is a standard of any household kitchen, delusional infatuation is something that fate produces in us with a distressing ease.
Hope, trust, caring, desperation. All you need to add to that mix is an unfortunate sort of faith, a belief that all will go well. With that, you have the perfect set of ingredients for the perfect heartbreak.
I was hurt because I expected. I had faith in a love that might not have even existed.
Well, I can't say I would change a thing if I had a chance at a do-over. With the exception of whatever it was that put her over the edge and made her leave, I regret nothing.
But I will take care to keep my mind free of anticipation. Or perhaps I will not let myself fall for another person again.
With the exception of Asha, I could not picture anyone finding a way to captivate my heart.
Asha was my hope, my redemption. How could I let her love for me reduce to carbon-dust, to cinders so small they seem like nothingness?
Digging up reason and rationale that I worked so hard to bury away, I know that the answer to that question is in plain sight. With that realisation, my cynicism and all that came with it returns to me, along with a new question to fret over: How could I ever expect the fire to last?
