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10: Untold Confessions
The quick thought of you blooms warm tears from the crevices of my eyes, for you were never once a planted seed in my garden, but the moment the traces of the stem of your frame or the petals of your cheeks become faint, I find myself snatching a pen in order to regain the pain, in which I am accustomed to, for feeling the heartache is more comforting than to experience other feelings all at once.
A beautiful parting is nonexistent, but a nonexistent parting is more devastating. The stack of unopened letters that you had crafted for me is piled up in the corner of my room and taunting me to rip the envelope into shreds. The beautiful words you have painted into meaning, sealed up, urge me to forget, but I find myself snatching a pen in order to regain the pain, and finally confess my untold feelings to you by replying, one last time. The promised that I had pledged to myself to erase you from my mind vanishes, because in the corner of my mind, I know that I could not release you from my reach just yet.
In the end, the pen in which I covet to rest in the palm of my hands calmly, and silently, is no longer. For there is no use for the pen to be in my possession, because the attempt of creating communication, trying to reach out to you again, will never change the fact that I'm not good enough to be in the presence of your existence.
You are a treasure, rare to find, and beautiful to have once discovered, but you were meant to be discovered by someone else, for you were never once a planted seed in my garden.
