The worst kinds

Everyone thinks the most painful kinds of love are the ones that got away. Or the ones that stay unrequited for years; one party falling, the other guarding. Or the ones that you can predict are never going to work out, but you try anyway. Or even the ones that tear you down and spit you out.

But I think the worst kinds are the ones that never really begin. The ones that rest on the laurels and comfort of an amazing friendship. The ones that are never said aloud, but felt so deep. The ones that don’t begin because it’s simply the wrong time and the wrong place. The ones that you know could be mind blowing, but you don’t want to run the risk of ruining what you have. The ones that aren’t crushing on impact, but slow to kill. The ones that slowly worm their way into your life, leaving tiny cracks on your heart; enough for you to know they’re there, but not enough to kill. The ones that always leave you hanging on — not that you’re ever sure of what it is you’re holding on to. The ones that exist solely on sideway glances, eye-contact, and hands accidentally brushing up against each other. The ones that fall into an uncomfortable grey area. The ones that everyone else can see so clearly, but you refuse to. The ones that you don’t realise mean so much to you until the day you’re left without it — and then you feel lost, not because of your loss but because you’re taken aback by how much it means to you.

The ones that you spend your entire life wondering what could have been.

2am heart

I’ve been thinking

of promises I often break
of ones I will never make  

of lines crossed and blurred
of times good and worse
of boys present and past
of the one I thought would last 

of rules and regulations
of sweaty palms and heart palpitations

of memories faded
of the heart no longer jaded
of lies I feed my soul
of people I long to hold 

(stop; just,
breathe)

Strain (n)

She strained her ears and rubbed her eyes, not quite believing the words that were falling from his mouth. Words - that which used to be so beautiful to her, especially when she manipulated the way different syllables swirled together to form sentences, had now transformed themselves into knives, each one striking her chest and leaving her to bleed. It was as if her heart being squeezed with an iron grip was affecting her hearing. She took a deep breath, rubbed her hand over her chest (as if that could help), and prepared herself for the worst. I’m sorry, can you repeat yourself? she asked.

And without hesitation, he said, We’re better off as friends.

Wonderwalls

(Photo: x)

Sometimes when I’m bored, I pick a random number and check out the posts in my regular tumblr that happen to fall on that page. Today I picked 199 and along with the above photo, this was what I found. It’s always a tad bit surreal to go back into time and relive it from mere words. Not to mention, Rachael Yamagata’s Elephants is playing now. Oh melancholy.

I do not have a favourite memory, but I do have a whole box of memories in my head that I can’t and won’t forget — of the time we sat at the playground sharing two boxes of pizza between us and talking about our future, the times you sat with me at the Singapore River and I had the best time ever even though no words needed to be spoken, the way we used to text during class, the 4am phone call that started it all, the notes you left me in my textbooks, the song you sent me in an attempt to get me to open my heart to you, getting part-drenched in the rain with you and making a joke about how the rain made a huge period-like stain on my maroon coloured school skirt, the time I visited you at work with cupcakes, the time we sat at the ice-skating rink and lay in each other’s arms, all the damn sideway glances you would sneak me in school, the huge crush I’ve always had on you and how I would always play your words over and over again in my head, the way we sneaked kisses behind others’ backs, the way you defended us when people were surprised at us holding hands before getting together, when you told me you carry around the book I made for you everywhere, Starbucks sessions when you would accompany me as I did my work, receiving Facebook messages and having my day instantly get better, sleeping in school with you because we were too damn tired to head home, talking about the stuff that matter, and being surprised at how damn similar we are. And these barely scratch the surface.

It is not the events that count, but the people you spend them with. And even though three-quarters of these people have walked out of my life, I am not going to brood, but be thankful that at a mere age of 20, I have experienced the different kinds of love some people never even come close to having in their lifetime.

First

Here, hold this, you said.

And he did.

And that was all it took for you to place your perfect, flawless heart in the palm of his hands. You never even thought about the repercussions (or maybe you did), because my god, the man wants to love me, so why shouldn’t I let him? You believed in being young and reckless. Follow your heart, you always said. But when your heart’s on a roller-coaster going at 100miles/hr, and you’re not the driver, a head-on collision seems almost inevitable. It’s okay, how bad can it get? So in an entanglement of late night phone calls, early mornings beginning with sleepy smiles as you recall the saccharine sweet text messages he sent, and thoughts of the future and how your name would look so pretty with his last name, you don’t see the edge of the cliff you’re about to plummet off. And then just as suddenly as it began, you fall. And fall, and fall, and fall, leaving you in a pile of broken pieces at the bottom, asking yourself the questions that you don’t have the answers to.

Here, hold this, you’d say again, sometime in the future, to another. But this time, not all of it.

Never all of it.

I’m kind of self-sabotaging

“I will over analyse every situation and replay your every syllable and action in my head, and then either have the strong urge to close up when you come a little too close for comfort or let myself sink into periods of depression and self-reflection when I think you’re too distant. I will guard my heart before anyone can hurt me again, but I will end up getting hurt in the end, and then blame you for it. I will never be the one you can make empty promises to because I give you no chance to do it - I fuck myself over faster than you can. And there’s nothing you’ll be able to do about it. I’m clingy and sometimes a bit desperate for your attention and time - yes, especially your time, but I won’t want it to seem that way, so I’ll purposely come off as ignorant, and then worry about whether I appear too indifferent. I like to think of myself as unbreakable because self-delusion works wonders for me. I can promise you it will never be boring with me - instead, it will be mentally and emotionally exhausting for the most part. I will go on tireless searches for guys who always assume they can fix me, not knowing that I do not need to be fixed - only understood. I will refuse to let anyone put me back together but if you somehow manage to, then my heart is yours for eternity, whether you like it or not. And then, well I don’t know. I don’t have a plan after that, and that kind of vulnerability, that is what really scares me.”

I posted this 10 months ago here and rereading it now makes me feel so _____________. I don’t like emotions; they’re too intangible and unpredictable. I much prefer things I can control, like assignments.

In other news, I give up.