I have always believed that love, in its purest form, is always a precious thing to have because it finds its way no matter what, despite the distance and doubts. But now, all I believe in is that love, in its purest form, is a mess. A disaster.
I choose not to recall what happened but it keeps coming back. The long talks over the phone. The sweet stuff. The i-almost-believed-you feeling. And you got me. Again. I don't know whether to suppress the feeling, or to cultivate it even more. I have always spared you my time, even if work has drained every ounce of energy that I usually have. But thanks to you, I always feel a whole lot better whenever we talk after work, or before going to sleep. And sleeping late never felt any better because of you, even if we both know we had to wake up early in the morning the next day. And waking up early had always put a smile on my face knowing that it's another day to "spend" with you-- at least through facebook, calls and messages.
But after a month of being happy, today, early in the morning, things changed. Like it was an overnight thing. You ended it because of him, even if that means pushing me aside, and making me lose again. For the nth time, it had always ended like this-- you not returning my calls, messages, and then you'd txt one day and tell me it's over. It had always been like this, and I thought that this time would be better, that you would not do it again-- but this time ain't any different than last time. And the many times before that.
I'm not angry. I'm not bitter. I was just planning on writing something light, and happy, and not knowing I'd end up writing something like this. Actually, I don't know what to really say. This has happened to me- a lot.
Love, in its purest form, really is a mess. A beautiful mess. A beautiful disaster, nevertheless.