I made friends with Loneliness today
She told me I was doing great
She thanked me for all the times
I didn’t go out of line
Said she saw Happiness on his way
Squeezed my hand, asked me to wait
I told her I learned a lot of things
Even after all the fretting and the weeping
Squeezed back her hand
Told her to visit me anytime she can
She’s going to stay for a while
But I know we’re going to be fine
I have a wine bottle at home
That’s been sitting at the counter
For months now
Waiting to be opened
I don’t think there’s a special enough
Occasion for that, unless one day
You finally come up to me
And say, “Hello.”
That would be both
The saddest and happiest day
Of my life.
My mother told me
That scars are broken promises
Sharper than blades
That cut through your heart
But my father said
That wounds heal naturally
And scars are just decorations
That tell your story
So happiness is not permanent
But neither is pain
And I’m looking at you and thinking,
“He’s a leap of faith I’ll take.”
I’ve had a problem with rules longer than I can remember. I’m neither saying it’s a good thing nor a bad thing. I’m just saying that I have problem with rules. A lot of times, when I don’t see the point of a rule or a regulation, I don’t follow it, because seriously, there are other things I’d rather set my attention to.
However, when I’m convinced enough that a particular regulation has sense, I gladly oblige. Take for instance the No Jaywalking signs in streets. I don’t jaywalk as much as I can help it, because frankly, it’s not worth risking my life for. But when it’s 3 in the morning and there aren’t any cars around anymore, are you going to walk the extra block to cross the street in the intended pedestrian lane? No you don’t, because there’s no point. But that’s just me.
I think that we have so many rules I can’t keep track on all of them anymore. We have all these rules to make life safer and easier and to keep us alive longer. But while you do have to try not to bump your head into everything or ran into things too much, life in general shouldn’t just be about safety. It shouldn’t keep us from hopping on a random bus going up North without any plans, or trying a drink we haven’t tried before. It shouldn’t stop us from dancing, from singing our lungs out or having fun with loved ones.
We don’t live to be safe. We live to take risks and be responsible for whatever the outcome is. Because whatever happens to you, good or bad, it will be a great learning experience. And you’ll be wiser for it, even if you do get bruised or wounded. Over time, pain will just be transformed into memory, and later on, a wonderful experience.
I’m not saying it’s okay to break every rule from now on. I’m just saying that it’s not so bad when you don’t follow them from time to time. I don’t know when I’ll be okay with following rules, but so far I didn’t turn out that bad, did I?
(Written: January 20, 2010)
“He clearly likes you, so go on lame dates and eat each other’s hearts out until the day you die.”
“I don’t want to, and I like him so much. It’s so pathetic to like someone this much. And if he tells me he likes me I will either die or kill him in the process.”
“What is the great tragedy here? Enlighten me.”
“I’m a mystery. That’s how I’ve always been to people. And it’s great because they get to play out all these possibilities about me that are crazier and much more fun to think about than who I actually am. But at what cost? I enjoy making people guess so much that it has become my greatest fear to have them figure out the real me; that I’m such a terrific bore it makes me want to blow my brains out on a daily basis; that an eventful day for me sometimes involves getting just the right amount of milk on my tea; and that I will never be not writing not because I love it so much, but because if I’m not writing, I won’t know who I am, and that terrifies the fuck out of me. So I’m not really a mystery at all. I’m just a really sad excuse of a person who somehow manages her own madness with moderate success.”
“Wow. You are one fucked up girl.”
“I know. Try living inside my head. You will kill yourself in an hour. And see, he doesn’t even need to do anything with or to me. That’s always been my problem, I fall in love with words far too often and too much. Those who say actions speak louder than words have never read poetry. And he’s a fucking poet, if anything. He tells me to have a great day and I convulse in painful delight, and it’s annoying, because I will spend my day trying to live up to that exact greatness that he wished upon my day. So imagine what I’ll be if he tells me he likes me.”
“So, no dates then.”
“No. No dates. No anything.”
Quiet Poetic 