One of my many flaws is the incapability to unsee the things I have not seen. Especially in the light that I have seen you, and in the darkest of places that you have kept me sane. I’m craving to know you. Perhaps in my desperate attempts I’m tragically falling, and breaking my bones, maybe rules, perhaps the promises I once made. I’m afraid of change. Afraid of meeting you halfway. I’m afraid of a single thread of happiness, especially when it awaits me sedaciously in my bed like a sin I’m yet to commit.
Happiness is such a fragile concept, I do not think I can pet it, neither can it pur to the warm touch of my affection. No matter the backstrokes, or however much I hold it, it’s same old same old, “I break hearts more than I drop pants”. Took me awhile to digest the fact that even villains hurt. Even villains lose people, twice in a row. Even villains falls prey to the preys they once pre-dated. And to be emotionless isn’t a sweet fancy road, you are bound to feel loss and suffer the sudden kisses of grief. Only except when you learn to shed your skin, it’s often too late to get on the wagon. The train is always leaving the station, and I’m way too blind to read between the lines of the rails.
Show me, Dear self, so I can know. You’ve always claimed that you’re at your worst when hurt, but I’ve never seen it. Are you that incapable of shedding your skin, or is bottling your emotions the only way for you to smile? Tell me how you do it. Tell me how you put other people’s happiness before yours. You are selfless and it’s breaking me. You have gently broken inside my mind, and now your face is all over my face. Tell me when it’s gonna end. Tell me when I hold your hands it’s gonna be the last one I take to be mine. Teach me how not to hide from myself. Or let that me be, in the shadowed arms of dark affection.
And if perhaps we fail to meet each other. If perhaps, I stumble on the teeth of the rails, Remember me not in ways I desperately tried to please you, nor in the ways I died to show you my perfections. No. Remember me with the hurt I caused you, and the moments I refused to open myself unto you. Remember me as a flawed human, dear self.
(Dear Self)
Phill Ibsen, Master of Descriptions.
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