How lucky you are.

How lucky you are
When you find someone
Who also likes the way your coffee is made
Laughs at your jokes even though they aren’t funny
Has fondness for you that is eternal
And how lucky you are also
If you don’t have that someone
You have all the time to improve yourself
Find what you really want in life
And do the things you desire
Just because you’re in love, doesn’t mean you’re always lucky
And just because you aren’t, doesn’t mean you’re hapless
It’s all about perception and your own apprehension
Of what you have and what you don’t have.

— H.L.

Cope.

If you’re a writer: “Write when your heart aches.”

If you’re an artist: “Create if you’re bothered.”

If you’re a singer: “Sing a sad song if you wish.” 

If you’re a dancer: “Let what you feel be what you do with the beat.”

 

I am not an artist, a singer, a dancer; I am only a writer. And this is me, writing while my heart aches out of disappointment.

 

It isn’t surprising that my heart has once again been shattered by the same boy. The VERY same boy. Still, why am I disappointed, if it’s the selfsame boy? Because, if that was the case, I shouldn’t be shocked, right? For a span of few months, he made me live in this world where we were together. A world I would gladly choose back then without skipping a beat. A world where I thought this time, this could be it. He is my future.

 

But the record scratches and the frames fall and shatter, and that future was again taken away from me. You, yes you, the very same boy I fall for every goddamn time, had let words slip out of your mouth and meaning not a single word. I know you’ve said that I’ve always doubted you, and that it’s mostly my fault why we fell apart now, but, can you blame me? I won’t put out my reasoning.

 

So tell me, why is it that I always fall for you? Why do you keep coming back and I keep letting you in? Is this a curse? A spell? No, it’s goddamn reality, and that’s sad.

There is no plot twist.

This year has been a crazy, wild ride. I was gifted with family, friends, and that special someone who makes my heart happier than it was before.

I’ve been blessed with the people who surround my personal space, with the talents God has given me, and for the adventures and lessons that this year has brought me. But, as much as I would want to give light to the positive things that I’ve encountered this year, I have been weighed more with each awaking moment in which I wished I was dead instead.

“Oh, but why? You’ve got everything! You ungrateful bastard!” You would say. Well, no. Even with the amount of joy that may have been granted upon me, the catch is that I will ALWAYS face its downside; that is, being lonely than I already am. You have all these people around you, people who support and yearn for your success, and yet, you feel so alone when the clock hits 3 AM. There’s no one you can count on, no one to lean on, no one you can call to talk about your demons with.

Not even the person you’re in love with. Sometimes, it’s that very person that triggers all of your emotions at once. And sometimes, you screw things up because these demons play tricks to the one you love. They’ll break your relationship, make you realize you’re actually better off on your own. The fact that you should be fighting off your own demons than to drag someone with you is already disappointing you. What a dependent, shitty person I am. Do I even deserve this person in front of my cellphone screen? Do I deserve his reply, even when he has none?

There is no plot twist. God knows I’ve been hysterically asking Him to make my 2017 a year I won’t forget. There is no plot twist. There is no plot twist. There is no plot twist. There is no plot twist. There is no plot twist. There is no plot twist.

Still, you try to subside all these thoughts and feelings away, for the sake of the ones you love and care most about. Who cares, right? Put a mask. Suppress everything. It’s what I do best anyway. There’s more to my story, but it’s a surface I can’t break. It’s too deep that even I can’t fathom what lies underneath. What stories are yet to be told. No one’s willing to listen. So, I’ll keep them to myself until I die.

 

I wish I was dead. Or maybe I’ve always been dead with every passing minute. Or you know, maybe I’m dead now, after you’ve read this.

 

There is still no plot twist.