What Does It Mean To Fall In Love?

It came rushing in like a breezy wind finding its way towards the comfort of your room’s open window. The feeling of being home–in fact, more than that–captures your soul and fills you with bliss that you felt like was stolen, deprived of you for so long. It doesn’t matter whether you expected it to come, or how long you’ve waited, or that it wasn’t part of your plan. You attracted energy that appealed to that one person in particular.

 

Like they always say, it’s crazy that in retrospect, this person wasn’t as significant to you as he is now. It’s surreal that somewhere along the way, you clicked and interacted with each other like it was the natural thing to do. How the power of conversing gives you a cheap (well, not really) thrill of finding out more and more little details about him that you wouldn’t get to discover unless you actually talk with compassion and interest.

 

And you start to question yourself: where had he been all this time? He had always been there, hiding in plain sight, living, existing, breathing; the same way you were. It was privilege, a fact you weren’t aware of the first time. But when you finally acknowledged this truth, it was the moment you know you’ll both treasure and regret (if things turn up ugly). And you know you don’t have to look any further for questions you will never have answers to.

 

But there’s a catch to it somehow…it’s really too good to be true. Here’s the thing: you don’t know if he feels the same way. You haven’t mustered the courage (or never will, who knows?) to ask him directly because it isn’t your business to pry on his feelings. Your feelings are your feelings alone, and this applies to him as well. You hold on to this tiny slivering dash of hope that maybe, just maybe, he looks at you the way you look at him: with admiration, respect, and most of all, love.

 

Love. Huh. It’s a feeling that’s become foreign to you, even though it has been only months since the person you loved for years broke your trust and decided to close his eyes and never open them once again as long as you’re in the picture. The person who made you travel an extensive road with no exit signs or directions to follow. Yet you’re here, getting back up, putting the past behind you, and moving on for yourself.

 

Because of this, it provides you with a great amount of terror. What if this boy you’re talking to isn’t the man you think he is? This has been the scar of the love that left you–a bag of trust issues, constant need of reassurance and consistency, and a slight craving of attention. And you may not admit it yourself, but you are. You are scared. You’re scared to love again and to open your mind and heart to another person that you know is temporary; but you’re also fearless and careless because no matter how much you convince yourself that you don’t want to fall in love, you always do in the end and that excites you. It moves you, even. And that’s what it means to fall in love: to have your heart chewed up and spit out, until you cross paths with this one lovely human being in your lifetime and you know: you’re on your feet again, walking, running, frolicking towards love, towards the person closest next to home; and everything that’s disheartening, and even the walls you absentmindedly surrounded yourself with, will be gone the moment you hear your heart beat.

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I can’t write right.

Sometimes I can’t write,

my mind’s being deceived.

Not sure if it’s right,

don’t know what to believe.

 

A blank piece of paper

stares intently back at me.

I can’t even bother

to write meaningfully.

 

It’s as if every inch

of creativity has been taken.

Maybe I just need a pinch,

or  a life-changing awaken.

 

Take me back

to those days,

when I don’t lack

the words to say.

 

A few drops of inspiration,

something to set the mood.

Using my imagination,

to write something good.

 

Perhaps, my talent is missing.

But, I can’t seem to discern why.

I used to long for writing,

letting every word go by.

 

I am thirsty to create anything

that will leave your literary soul

hanging, banging, jumping, craving.

Will I achieve my goal?