I have loved someone so intensely I almost forgot who I was; so deeply I drowned in the same waters I created to supposedly bathe him with a love I haven’t felt before; so big I lost all strength to carry it in my back alone, letting it crush me soon after.
So I have loved someone with all my heart only to end up being killed by its same enormity.
And you can’t tell me love can’t harm anyone. Isn’t there a song about it already? That too much of it will kill you? Murder you? Torture you? Set you ablaze?
So I have loved someone in a way I myself haven’t understood quite fully. I just knew it was there, raggedly breathing, struggling for life every single day.
But then the worst storm came and the ugly realisation of being never loved back by the one you adore most hit me like the waves of Typhoon Haiyan striking the shores of the Philippine islands–obliterating everything in her wake, leaving nothing useful, almost unbearably and unbelievably leaving nothing for tomorrow.
There has been this one period when I seriously thought I wouldn’t make it through, when I just stare at the ceiling, laying flat on the floor, carelessly chasing my respiration patterns as horrible panic attacks came. I remember people looking at me with those puzzled eyes, eventually concluding that everything was an act for attention when in reality you beg for none but peace. I remember his unfeeling words that made me realise how tiny I have been for him–me and my feelings, me and my thoughts, me and my capabilities, potentials, tomorrows, and nows.
So I loved someone and got the worst heartbreak in the history of my life.
And then he came.
You know those days when you’re in the middle of a scorching summer and then the rain came? And it isn’t just a passing drizzle that’s gone just before you enjoy it. I’m talking about torrential rain pouring all of a sudden, not just moistening and damping the cracked and dried-up lands but more like nourishing it and washing away all the dusts and weeds, making it healthier, allowing it to be fertile for flowers to grow on.
That’s what it’s like.
It came almost instantly–the healing. You know when you’re in the worst mood of all time then suddenly you’re favourite vent song came in the radio and you can’t help yourself but sing your heart and lungs and oesophagus out? When you’re in a horrible day and then you saw the dusk and all its colours and suddenly you tell yourself it’s a great world and a great life and a great time to start anew.
It’s like you screaming with all your might to declare you will never love again, and then suddenly, just suddenly, you did again.
That’s what it’s like.
So I have loved and had suffered the worst heartache in my book.
And then there came someone that washed away all the pain almost too snappily. Almost too sudden, too unreal, too unreasonably fast.
That’s what it’s like.
That’s what it’s like since he came.
So I have loved someone with all my heart only to end up being killed by its same enormity.
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| Artwork: Paula |
And you can’t tell me love can’t harm anyone. Isn’t there a song about it already? That too much of it will kill you? Murder you? Torture you? Set you ablaze?
So I have loved someone in a way I myself haven’t understood quite fully. I just knew it was there, raggedly breathing, struggling for life every single day.
But then the worst storm came and the ugly realisation of being never loved back by the one you adore most hit me like the waves of Typhoon Haiyan striking the shores of the Philippine islands–obliterating everything in her wake, leaving nothing useful, almost unbearably and unbelievably leaving nothing for tomorrow.
There has been this one period when I seriously thought I wouldn’t make it through, when I just stare at the ceiling, laying flat on the floor, carelessly chasing my respiration patterns as horrible panic attacks came. I remember people looking at me with those puzzled eyes, eventually concluding that everything was an act for attention when in reality you beg for none but peace. I remember his unfeeling words that made me realise how tiny I have been for him–me and my feelings, me and my thoughts, me and my capabilities, potentials, tomorrows, and nows.
So I loved someone and got the worst heartbreak in the history of my life.
And then he came.
You know those days when you’re in the middle of a scorching summer and then the rain came? And it isn’t just a passing drizzle that’s gone just before you enjoy it. I’m talking about torrential rain pouring all of a sudden, not just moistening and damping the cracked and dried-up lands but more like nourishing it and washing away all the dusts and weeds, making it healthier, allowing it to be fertile for flowers to grow on.
That’s what it’s like.
It came almost instantly–the healing. You know when you’re in the worst mood of all time then suddenly you’re favourite vent song came in the radio and you can’t help yourself but sing your heart and lungs and oesophagus out? When you’re in a horrible day and then you saw the dusk and all its colours and suddenly you tell yourself it’s a great world and a great life and a great time to start anew.
It’s like you screaming with all your might to declare you will never love again, and then suddenly, just suddenly, you did again.
That’s what it’s like.
So I have loved and had suffered the worst heartache in my book.
And then there came someone that washed away all the pain almost too snappily. Almost too sudden, too unreal, too unreasonably fast.
That’s what it’s like.
That’s what it’s like since he came.
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