“It started from the brushes of our elbows and legs with few layers of clothes apart. I shivered as he ran his fingers in the wilderness of my brunette, tracing my facial flaws, his deep-set blue eyes momentarily looking into mine. His arm reached over my statuesque, clutching it tightly as the waves came ashore. I froze in the sand. He held me in, protective, as if afraid that if he loosens his grip, I would disappear. His scent filled the air, something that seem to have cleansed my fears away. His touches seemed like a spell leading me to symptoms of continues lust and attraction.”
Above is excerpt from a novel I wrote from way way wayyyyy back when I was obsessed with writing fiction. Sadly I never got to finish it.
The narcotic wave of love pulling you deeper. Crescendos and decrescendos of heartbeats and rhythms and pulses and intertwining dreams to reality.
Love- it’s worth risking isn’t it?
Let me tell you one story my sister shared one time- 12 year old’s in public display of affection. I had mixed feelings of amusement and confusion when she told me that. When I was that age, I was taking care of pets in the Tamagotchis from the Green House across our school. I felt every idea and any interpretation of love was gross.
Ever since I knew how it felt to be loved and love, I started to grow apathetic to its idea. Not like I joined the bandwagon of how cool not caring seems to be or how I didn’t want anyone thinking I’m obsessed with someone, but rather I looked at love at a different view afterwards. Yes, falling in love was awesome, but everything also felt fragile. I’m a thinker. And simply just loving as what everyone does doesn’t really grind my days.
Good morning texts, Sunday cuddle nights, flowers and chocolates, long walks, coffee at midnight, exchanges of sweet messages, traveling around the world, knowing someone is always there for you… just it’s idea sends a kaleidoscope of butterflies and a crooked but sincere smile. It makes mornings a little easier to wake up to. It magically makes problem a little lighter. It makes spending midnight working on a project a little more fun.
But I can’t.
I need to rid myself of the fact that I’ll find someone now. Because I can’t. It doesn’t work that way. I can’t. I’m not in the right state of being. I can’t. I’m not in any way ready. I can’t. Life is already too much to handle. I can’t. I’m not ready for a commitment. I can’t. I might choose the wrong person at this wrong time. I can’t. I have so much plans. I can’t. I have lots of other priorities. I just can’t.
Maybe my life doesn’t make a plot as great as 50 First Dates or The Notebook. Maybe my life would make a crappy movie. But I don’t want those kinds of plot to a happily ever after just because everyone feels it’s the perfect love story.
Falling in love is not an idea that appeals to me. Because falling means you have no idea where you’ll land or how difficult it would be to climb up again.
So this is me, cheating that I don’t care. This is me cheating how I feel. Locking it up in a metal casing. I’ve placed walls, one no one can cross. I don’t want to be attached to anyone, not just in a sense of sexual relationships, but adding any more friends than what I have now will make me think that it’s okay to take risks in letting people in my life. I can’t call a date as “just hanging out” because I don’t want to sugarcoat a risk that I know won’t produce an outcome I deserve. And that’s the start of how complicated everything gets.
But when I am ready; when I’m done cheating, I know it’ll be perfect. It’ll be at the perfect time, with the perfectly imperfect person and the perfect reason.