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minutiae

 



No matter where she looked for love, whose lips she’ll ever touch; no matter how and when she’ll find that one, I’ll still be here. No matter who she shares her happiness with, I know, when she’ll feel sad, hopeless, tired, hurt, painful, lost, doubted or lifeless she will come to me. Yes, me. Not that guy she first met. Not that girl with short hair. But me.

And that is enough. It is enough. For me to be there when no one is, is enough. To be able to share her tears is valuable than being the one sharing happiness. I wish to be the one who can make her smile when she is crying.

I wonder how all one sided love songs are so wrong and unrealistic. They start with how one loves the other one who is already committed and how they can move mountains and swim oceans for them and then they end with cursing that one because they did not realize their love. This is purely horse shit.

It’s just the other way round in real life, man. You hate them, get irritated but when you close your eyes you love them. You want to make them vulnerable, or the villain of your story because they cannot become a hero/heroine, but actually the truth is your story is their life. Flash back when you did not know them, did you even know yourself? You have a story because you have them. Did you even bother to know how to care when they weren’t around?

But they messed you up. They messed it all. Mess is only of the things that are physically present, thoughts are never messed, they are manipulated. Clothes in our cupboard cannot be manipulated but messed. So, before they messed you up you were just being manipulated by yourself and people unlike her. They messed you up so you cannot get manipulated.

I don’t want her to particularly, specifically love me; but to be this, whatever this is, is enough. Sometimes when I even think of losing this with her, or leaving her behind I can’t even imagine her sad, I imagine her not existing, dead. I know with me gone her last faith on humanity, on good, on love will be far gone. And that is why she still calls me ’special’. I know she loves me, not the one wanting to kiss me or wanting me to touch her, she just can not figure it out and I respect her. Respect the decision that she chose to know us better than rushing and leaving us. She just loves to be with me. 

She loves the person she is around me; she thinks I make her a different person. But it’s not what I make her; I let her be ’her’. I let her be the one person she wishes to be and still afraid of.

I want to tell you about our story. But time flies and words dried. Until again when I feel how much she means to me, I’ll keep giving the footnote of our story.

hopefully soon again.

sincerely,

The 'He'

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