Monday, April 19, 2010

Colors, Numbers and Cuts.

Discontent is written all over your face. When I honestly thought I got you all figured out after one thousand eight hundred and forty three days, I  surprised myself when I had a good look at you.

Once,  you were this cloud of radiating colors that never seized to light up the room even through the darkest and hardest of times. Your colors were overwhelmingly beautiful, so much so that I cannot stare at you for long because my eyes are only used to the blacks and greys.

One thousand eight hundred and forty three. These are the number of days that emotions filled up the room. Being with people like you and me is never easy. The one thing that made us count the days pass a thousand, is the culprit of our demise.

Passion. The passion for you and for me. The passion we have for the world and all its rights and wrongs, its brilliance and ignorance. The passion for anything that can make our hearts feel stabbed and comforted at the same time. The passion to search.

For one thousand eight hundred and forty three days, you were caught with my web of emotions and youthful ignorance. These thousands of days were mostly spent on me, and you and me. But never you. While I tried to make sense of my passion, you were just there, holding  my hand as I rise and fall every time I try to cross the bridge of what is called adulthood by society.

My reckless nature cut you so many times. So much that I had lost count  whenever I see you bleeding. You always say that your wounds are insignificant next to me. You would never lose your colors. You would never care to heal the pain my passion has brought to your life. You were just holding my hand. Patiently. Patiently waiting for me to share the colors of your world.

Yesterday marks the one thousand eight hundred and forty two days of you and me. By this time, I had already crushed your heart so many times that all that’s left of us is silence. You were sitting at the corner, just staring and hoping that your dreams for you and me would someday be real. Although I knew of your passion, I never had the  strength to keep up with it. Your colors were almost blinding to me.

I only have myself to blame. Your passion for obsession, your deep need to satisfy your carnal needs, your passion for me. Those thousand and thousands of days, I have never lived up to your passion. I knew that you wanted so much more, so much more from me, but I never radiated the same colors  that you were looking for. But even if this were the case, you always say that I still fill up your world with so much vibrancy.

Today minus a day, you are very lonely. Today minus fifty, a hundred, and a hundred more days… you have been feeling lonely. Being with me is a big discontent to you, but being without me is the last thing you ever want to happen. You tell me time and again all the things that you wish we could be, that you wish I could be once again. As the days passed,  your passion drove me to the wall. Your obsession to get something more from what I can give you kills my spirit, it kills my spirit every single moment.

My colors are not as bright as yours, and it would never be. Your hunger, I could never feed. One thousand eight hundred and forty three days ago, I may have deceived you into thinking that I am The One. Look beneath my youth and my passion, all you see is nothing. And everyday, you want that nothing to turn into something that would feed your every need. While your optimistic nature brought us to these many days of happiness, it gave you a greater amount of disappointment and loneliness… a sad truth to life's balance of pleasure and pain.

Your stubborn nature would never admit to your discontent towards me. While I do not blame you for doing so, I would still leave the door open for you. We cannot keep counting the days that you are smothered with loneliness because you want something you could never have. We cannot keep counting the days that you live in frustration, questions and self- loathing.  Satisfaction would bring you peace. Looking at my emptiness would bring you peace.

1 comment:

  1. The tears have not stopped rolling down my cheeks. The memories still swirl about in nauseating fashion. The clouds still hover above blocking the sunshine. The taste of food does not satisfy. And I am famished with a hunger that can never be fulfilled. Our former home feels empty and I now sleep on the couch in the hopes that the dreams of "us" stop- a futile effort, obviously.

    I said it before and I'll forever say it-- you are the last, you are the ONE.