What It's Like to Love a Pessimist

She douses her thoughts with negativity, thinking of the world as a machine that upholds dreams, stitches up hope, but crushes it even before one can claim sabotage. She overthinks every situation she is in, thinking that everything that latches on her will be in jeopardy and will disappear eventually.

She writes until her fingers hurt and until her the pages run out; she writes down her worries and how she thinks of her life as an accidental gift, a tailspin of fate. 

She tends to remember the slightest misfortune, the tiniest error she has committed in the light of deeming that her life is a shaking picture of disaster and darkness.

She says sorry even if it's unneccessary and hugs you when she thinks she has gone overboard. She smiles through her tears for even when she views life as a merciless pit, she has this ounce of hope in her heart, that someday, somehow, there will be better things for her. She might not tell you often about her worries, but she has a myriad of them, haunting her soul even when she slept.

She smiles through her tears for even when she views life as a merciless pit, she has this ounce of hope in her heart, that someday, somehow, there will be better things for her.

 

ore fom Candymag.com

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When at times she's too much to handle, please don't yell at her. She did not choose to break her heart, no one will ever choose to. It's not her fault that she went through the worst and that overthinking is her coping mechanism. She did not enlist herself with pain and scars. Her life was hers but then, she wasn't in control. 

And now, as she cries in your arms and whispers to you that she's sorry for the nth time about the way she is, hold her close. She did choose to have a hard life, and she tried to be happy in the manifestation of you. For a while, everything simmers. Her thoughts of the dark are non-existent.

In you, she has found her solace. Give her that. In the midst of everything that went wrong in her life, she took the fall and gambled on you.

 

Please do not give her enough reason to hate herself again. For a moment, dwell in her world and look past her pains. She is but a girl who dedicated her life to happiness, happiness she cannot even own but chose to give it to others, to you.

Wade through the darkness of her heart and set her ablaze again. For in the misery that she has been and the life that she has lived, having and loving you encompasses all the pains this world could give her.

*Submitted to Candymag.com (Edited by Candy)

I Wear My Heart on My Sleeve

"Aren't you afraid that you'd be rejected?" 
I hear this line often from my friends when I am about to confess to someone that I like them. I was always that kind of girl. The kind that sets her heart out in the open for people to walk on yet never regrets doing it. I would always nonchalantly confess my feelings then and there. I believe that I should live in the moment for tomorrow is never certain.

I have been rejected a lot of times, well for the record, I always was. I have been viewed as too daring, too straighforward, too sure, too desperate. But really, what's wrong with being honest? What's wrong with being sure of my feelings?

Why is it not "conventional" or "socially acceptable" for girls like me to make the first move instead of boys? Can't I say my feelings whenever I want? Can't I speak my mind? Don't I have a voice?

The idea of a girl making the first move irks a lot and I don't know why; it has become a social stigma.

When I was a kid, the media has been a window that exposed my eyes to reality and as mediocre as it could get, boys were always the initiators, never girls.

Most of the boys I liked, distanced themselves from me since I was too sudden, too dauntless of a heart for them. I was too much to handle.

But I always knew it in me that whatever may become of me after all this love I am trying to give around, all this pieces of me I am sharing to those I deem worthy, I will never lose my capacity to love nor lose my depth in giving it.

I am in love with the idea of being in love.

And pain, years of unending rejection, toxic retorts from guys, never ending pain, never stopped me from giving out my feelings and my thoughts.

Although, some times are tough and it could get tiring, I'll recoil and get back on my feet; ready to wear my heart on my sleeve again.

I do not take love for granted; I value it too much that I see everybody as worthy of receiving it, let alone, feeling it even if at times, none deserves it.

Somehow, I grew as a writer because of the countless heartbreaks and rejections that I have endured. I have lost count on how many times I've confessed to guys that I like them, head on.

In anyway, the world may break me, reduce me to rubble, slather me with pain, pounce on me like a hurricane, I will forever and always love without a doubt; love the kind of love that lights up the darkest places. The kind that makes imperfection a peripheral notion, the kind that sets the world free from thoughts that constrain the soul.

I wear my heart on my sleeve because l can; loving throughout the uncertainty of it all made me who I am.

I have been beaten to the seams and rocked and thrown everywhere because of my benevolence. I never knew loving could hurt; I only thought of it as a substance so potent--everyone that feels it levitates away from the world and is brought to another place, an ethereal place.

No matter what, I just loved, and I guess nothing is ever beautiful than that.