ISKRIBOL (Mga Suka ng Isang Bored na Otistik)

Suka #109

This is the first of the last I write about you

If some time in the future I will be asked the question of whether I met my one great true love and what happened, I will answer with this: Yes but I am the sea and she is the mountains. While she cannot fathom me, I cannot reach her.

And I may have an alternative answer, too: I stopped believing in the idea of a one great true love. Six days ago, I stopped. Though maybe not yet completely.

So here I am in this messed up situation that every time I hear her sing I already know that the songs are not for me; that every time she does hugot she is thinking of him—because I brought upon myself to confess to her six days ago (and was rejected, as expected) and here I am, tormented by the unseen consequences of my stupidity. My assumptions are gone. My illusions are gone. I am left to deal with the reality that she really is way, way out of my league. But I am a little lighter now. I was happy when I told her that I love her because I was resolved to speak whatever I feel from now on. There's this rush inside me; that everything's going too fast and I have to catch up; that time's running out; that I have to move. So I moved and confessed. It was a messed up confession but she got the point. Maybe she's used to guys confessing their love for her because she did not act strange when I said it. As I said, way, way out of my league.

But I forgot to tell her one thing. I was preoccupied with the whole "selfless, undemanding love" that I forgot to tell her that I will stop proving myself. I will not do any more efforts to make her at least like me (aside from the fact that I can't really afford all the chocolates and flowers and expensive dinner dates because as I said, I am the sea and the sea is impoverished.) So I'll stop proving myself to her because what's the point? No matter how hard I try to meet up with her expectations, a guy will walk into her life, already built-up and has already met her expectations, so she will choose him. So I'll stop reaching. My arms are weary and my heart is sick. I am belittling myself, I know. But, really, I'm so tired of proving myself to people so that they could love me; that I need to climb up so they could give back the love that I selflessly give to them. So I'll stop proving myself to anyone, really. I will only prove things to myself. The only approval I need is mine. I will be selfish. I'm tired so I will be selfish.

But I love her. I always will. And when I said my love does not demand I meant it. I will not beg. Although I'll stop proving myself, it does not mean that I'll stop loving her. I am at the point of my life where there are only two things that sustain me: this love and that dream. Let me keep them at least. Let me write verses about her. Let me write stories about her. Let me create characters formed from the scion of her soul because they sustain me. They keep me going. There's still pain but they keep me going.

She is the mountains and from the sea I will still write about her, though my words will be washed away. It does not matter. She does not know either way.