Thursday, July 19, 2007
终场
在我心上用力的开一枪， 让一切归零在这声巨响。
fuck at 3:16 AM
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Saturday, July 14, 2007
fallen love
I’m mourning the demise of what I thought was to be a great love story.
I grieved the lost of passion, innocence and an eternity of promises.
I wept for being the hopeful half of a conjugation, the one who pictures too idealistically and thinks all problems could be solved with an apology.
Distance.
Four thousand miles.
Nine trains stops.
They killed my love.
What was it they say about absence making the heart fonder? Four months of prolonged distancing with the lack of a physical presence, has set to banish my romance to a precarious state; suspended and confined to the grey regions of a suspicions-fueled guessing game. Once the pressure of absence have reached its critical mass and can no longer withstand the difference in time, space and effort - that - was the beginning of the downward spiral to an end and a broken heart.
Was it a carefully constructed convenience or was it a cosmic coincidence or was it a culmination of karmic debts or even a self-fulfilling prophecy? Why should a change of heart be a valid situational response when circumstances change? Different. Perhaps the heart is deficient and void of emotions capable of loving and giving more. Cold. His answers showed slight interest in being agreeable, eager to leave me to feed my tantrums with more anger. Stagnation. Dissecting our relationship over the phone becomes a tiresome chore; rather burdening oneself with the guilt of being someone heartless and loveless. Dead-end. Perhaps compromising requires too much self-sacrifice, breaching the equilibrium of self and love.
Ideally, a closure to a break-up is easier made shifting all the hatred to a selfish bastard, omitting most guilt issues between us. But I love him too much to even think I was a faultless party. How can a heart breaks another and love be forsaken, ties be cut, kisses be unreciprocated and hugs be cold? I’m unloved, unlovable and fear I should become unloving.
He knows I do care a lot, but patience and love aside, there was still something lacking. To draw concluding lines now would mean my acceptance of living with an ex - a living confrontation that serves as a constant reminder of my failed romance.
Not that I reject the seemingly unorthodox idea. He is still the great person I know, the person who makes me laugh and cry, smile and frown; my best friend.
Love fades. I need my love to fade, fade into the direction where it came from and a living confrontation might just be the best healing therapy.
I'm sorry we didn't work out.
Goodbye, my love.
fuck at 2:56 AM
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