It was one cold night when I
texted you that I couldn’t sleep for the nth time that week. I rapped your
inbox with messages that were too petty to matter for someone who’s as happy, easygoing
as you but for someone who has my kind of thoughts, my kind of pain, my kind of
soul; every word I sent was a direct statement that summed up my life and how
it’s going downhill.
I was too scared that moment, too
haunted by the fact that after knowing my little, capricious fears, you’d leave
me just like everyone else did. I was scared to lose you because it would take
a million fates, a myriad of wishes for someone to love a girl like me; who’s
thoughts never sleep, who’s heart is never at ease—scarred, broken, played
with, who’s smile never lasts because happiness for me is but a subtle flailing
gift, who’s eyes never lie, I wear my heart on my sleeve, I love hard and real—never
less, always more. Finding someone who’ll love me is but a chance out of all
chances—slim and dwindling through luck and pity; that’s why, I was afraid that
you’d walk away, because once you would, it’ll take a thousand burnt wishes and
dreams to have you replaced, to have someone love me, because after all, who
would love a sad girl, let alone one like me?
Nonetheless, after all that
happened, I prepared myself; I was ready that you might leave. You walking away
didn’t mean that I’d accept and heal instantaneously; it’s just that what can a
broken soul like me, do to stop you anyway? I take what I get and that’s how I’ll
live.
Yet throughout the misery that I
placed you in, you waded and stayed afloat; you stayed and dwelt and loved and
endured. You listened to me when everything I was saying didn’t make sense,
when everything that came out of me were manifestations of the pains that I’ve
felt, you loved me all the same—without a doubt, without a word of quivering,
without fear. I was in shock, I saw everything as an illusion, a trap, that’ll
befall a soft-hearted, deep girl who saw the world as an endless mire of love
and chances.
I admit that sometimes I push you
to the brim, that I placed you in corners where all you can do was endure and
listen to my unending notions of brokenness and angst; but nonetheless, you
were still there, just like you promised.
It was tiring for me, to have to
think every single day that within a blink of an eye, a flick of a thumb, you’d
be gone; that maybe you were wrong to jump with me, that you’d regret knowing
me, that after all the bidding and the tears, you’d finally realize that I was
complicated to comprehend—that I was hard to love.
I know nothing of tomorrow but I
know one thing, that once in my lifetime, someone dared to love me, someone
tried to piece the puzzle; that I have been trying to put together all my life.
Yes, I’m getting tired; yes, we aren’t perfect; yes, we know nothing of this
life; yes, we are to be tossed and turned, to be beaten and thrashed to the
seams but it’s comforting, saving, worth living to know that I have you with
me; to suffer with me, to laugh, to cry, to live in this race they call life.
I guess that’s what makes this
love worth every scar, worth every reason—to fight for.
