You and Me

Its not that I'm not drawn to you. I am. I check your Facebook page every so often within my day, every day, to have an idea, a glimpse, of how you are, what you're feeling, what's going through your head. To no ones surprise, the whirlwind romance the randomness of our chance encounter has brought us has finally come to pass.

From a perspective, how we are, how it is this moment is the second best ending we can ever hope have. No face to face, neck wrenching drama a worst case scenario of parting ways would sooner or later, bring. No bitter and foul words exchanged. No ill wishes harbored for one another. No monsters created. I'd rather this, right now. This. This... I don't really know what's going on in that hope filled head of yours. That despite my stubbornness with staying away from you, I still kinda hope that you'd eventually stumble upon this blog entry because you were trying to understand what's going on in my jumbled head as well. That despite pursuers, you choose to remain unattached as I do, to pay respect for what we just both have lost.

When an honorable samurai faces certain defeat, in jap flicks he takes his katana and thrusts it to his belly while in kneeling position, resulting in death.
This imagery comes to my mind when I chose to walk away from us. From the potential of "we". Truth be told I've shared with you my most precious and genuine ideas, concepts, hopes, dreams and worries. It isn't something that I share with anyone. Not in a very long time. Despite fears, anxieties, preconceptions of why I don't share as much with anyone else but you, is proof that I really did entertain the possibility of us being truly together. We.

As I put on my cold, burdensome but ruthlessly efficient armor of indifference, apathy and silence, I cloak the wounds that longing, wanting and intimacy has brought forth. I am hurting as well. It's something that I want you to know. It's something I can't tell you because if you knew, I'd like to think that you'd tend to these wounds as I would yours if I truly could.

I sometimes ask why our chance encounter happened. But almost immediately I remain that it did as it teaches me a lesson I fail to fix over and over again: That an indulgent love is breathtaking and wondrous and ecstatic and euphoric, but it cannot withstand the harshness of clearcut of reality.

The fact remains, for now there cannot be be a we. It's not that I don't want to, or that I can't fight for that either. Believe it or not, by staying apart, fighting through the onslaught of grief, loneliness, emptiness and longing... By forging ahead with personal pursuits, self achievement and solitary growth... Only then can I be a worthy co sharer of the label. WE.

I miss you. I miss waking beside you. I churn with frustration in knowing that in my arms, I made you happy. I made you feel love as you've never have before. I wish I could make it last longer. I wish I was the old me when we met. The old me before I broke. Or maybe I'd rather you've met the future me, with worked out hangups with promises that will be kept for sure. The me that will not tolerate how you hurt right now, the me that will fight to make sure that you'll be alright. That you'll be well taken cared of.

If only there was any other way... But for now, it just has to be you and me.


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