Waxin’ Lyrical

Part 4 today. Part 5 should be the last, unless I feel the urge to write an epilogue again.

There are happier news I could be reporting on, but I don’t really want to sully this piece with out-of-place brightness.

——–
(Originally written on December 1st, just before I do something really really stupid again. Which I’ll write about in Part 5, I guess)

Sometimes I wonder how it feels like on the other side.

Love is a many-splendoured thing, of that I have little doubt. The smell of her hair, her gentle unfurrowed face as she lies asleep, unaware of my looking at her - those are the things that remind me how utterly disarming being in love feels like. Your daily pretences, the little lies you tell yourself and everyone around you to get through the day, all cast aside in the presence of her being. Your guarded responses, your deliberate replies lose all meaning when she’s around, and you bask in the purity of her love.

Past experience, further fortified by recent events, have, of course, reminded me that this feeling is not necessarily mutual, however much it may seem so.

What is it, then, that the other half feels?

Romantic, sentimental, naive, clingy. All adjectives that fittingly describe my present state of mind, I guess. After my inital wary defences have been dismantled, after I’ve reassured myself that, hey, this time around she could be the one, I can say, with nary a hint of hesitation or reserve, that I love with all of my heart. I love with a passion. I pour my all and everything into the relationship, giving it everything I possibly can. As the inital days of bliss turn to weeks, months and years, my love remains steady, resolute, unflinching. I say this, again with no trace of shyness or attempt to qualify, merely because this is who I am, because this is what I do. I love with a passion, and the passion smoulders ever on, even in the cold darkness of the nights when you’re away.

I love, but she no longer does. What does she feel then?

What does it feel like, realising that you’re the one to be held responsible for killing off the relationship?

I pose this pointed question, admittedly in part because some part of me still blames her for her unfeeling remorselessness, but also because I genuinely would like to know, because this isn’t the first time this has happened to me, and also because asking around has revealed, rather discomfortingly to me, that quite a few girls do exactly the same thing.

If you know that the reason why your relationship ended was because you’ve changed into someone else, someone who no longer needs that love you once thought you couldn’t live without, someone who has no qualms breaking the heart of the one who used to mean so much to you - how do you look at yourself in the mirror?

Is there not a trace of guilt, of shame, of regret?

“It’s not you… it’s me… I don’t deserve you… I hope you find someone more like you”, says the cold unflinching monster she’s become. If that’s really true, what’s with all the attempts to justify your actions as something I would have done as well? What’s with all the bullshite excuses you give, with the boldfaced lies thrown in my face?

Do you not realise what a horrible person you’ve become?

Are those lies you tell for my sake, or for yours, to somehow convince yourself you’re still a decent person? What does it feel like, knowing exactly what you’ve become?

One day, I will love again. One day, thought it may be far away, I will rise up again, be willing to risk everything and all for someone else again, this I know. One day, I will love again.

But you?

Can you possibly know the same? Can you possibly think that you will be worthy of love again? Can you possibly believe that you will meet someone else whose love you will not grow tired of, though you once professed the same to me?

How does it feel to be like that?

That’s what I would like to know. But it seems a moot point, really, because if she were the kind of person to feel that way… we’d still be together, wouldn’t we?

-Stranger

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