#feeling dump?

[especiallythatnight]

I have never known how to let go.

As a child, my mother would compare me to a volcano: exploding uncontrollably, once I was filled to the brim and bubbling with frustration and anger inside. Never letting go, until I could feel the ugly emotions building up inside trying to push out of me; Until I could feel it under my skin, straining and screaming to be released out into the world, unleashed from its confines. Holding it in until I couldn’t any longer, and letting the culminations of my ugliness rush out of me like a broken dam.

Not much have changed since childhood, except that I somehow am better at letting it strain inside me now without bursting. I have learnt how to live with the tension, I suppose. To live with a storm inside of me.

I do not have the courage to unleash it anymore. It’s ugly, and I learn to live with it, so as to spare the world and everyone in it from ever bearing witness to it.

Though, I do wish I could do something about it. I wish I knew how to release it. To unload the anger and the fear and the frustration from inside me so that I could have more space to store things like kindness, and joy.

I am so afraid of letting the ugliness escape me, that I cannot muster up the courage to scream at the top of my lungs, even when I am alone. It’s like a mental block; Every fiber of my being refuses to stain my surroundings with what pools inside me.

To be truthful, I am afraid of my rage. My capacity for anger. I keep it under lock and key within me because I have seen it rear its ugly head and open its eyes, and I know what it can do. It cannot be tamed. I know that once I release it, it will eat away at everything I have inside me, until I am left with nothing but ashes as a reminder of what I used to be. 

So for now, I will live with the storm inside me, as I always have. I refuse to taint the world with my ugliness, even if it means I am ripping myself open from the inside. Until I learn how to calm the tide, I will not let it escape me.

[especiallythatnight]

We saw each other again yesterday.

You said that you “don’t want to rely on me too much and keep it fun”, which my rational side completely understands, but my emotional side completely loathes.

We both agreed on this- we knew that we were bound to end the moment we touched. This was never meant to last.

But the way we act around each other seems to suggest otherwise. The way you kiss my forehead. The way I trace your back, with your head nestled perfectly on the curve of my waist. The way we can sit in silence, soaking up each other’s company without feeling the need to fill it with anything other than the comfort of each other’s presence.

I want this to be something more than “just some fun”, but I know deep down that it’s something entirely unlikely. Yet, I so badly want that confirmation of further affection- that step forward into enjoying each other’s companionship and personhood, rather than just dwelling in the fleeting realm of physical affection and lust.

I know what I’m yearning for is illogical, but again, what better thing to do illogically than to love?

To give yourself to someone, or to find refuge in another person- the concept in itself is illogical. Love is supposed to transcend and surpass any logical inhibitions. It’s supposed to be the one thing that makes your existence just a little more special and meaningful.

So why not this? Why not take the risk?

Hold my hand, and let’s leap into the unknown together.

[especiallythatnight]

As you sat there in front of me, staring at the ground, the alcohol swirling around in my system seemed to still.

Your face, softly illuminated by the streetlights, was the definition of picturesque; the very word you had used to describe me two years ago.

I search your face for answers every time I see you, but I can’t ever seem to find them. I never could - maybe that’s why I find you to be so intriguing, so irresistible.

We call each other good friends, we tell each other our secrets, we grieve about our old lovers to each other. Perhaps I am foolish to think that this could be more than just a friendship.

But whenever you reach out to hold my hand on the dance floor of a noisy and crowded club, we both seem to hold onto each other for a moment too long; and whenever you lean your body into mine for a hug, we stand there, melting into each other, absorbing each other, enjoying each other’s warmth just for a second.

There’s just the faintest hint of intimacy in the way we touch; perhaps this was what it could have been like. The two of us. Lovers.

These moments are like heaven and hell, like night and day - it leaves me ecstatic and yearning for more, but it also leaves me terrified that I may slip and reveal a bit too much. That I may ruin what we have with each other.

I’m scared that I’ll lose you. They say that if you truly love someone, it is better to remain friends. I never understood that until I met you. It scares me that my feelings may ruin what we have altogether.

So I don’t act on my feelings. I don’t let you know that I feel this way.

Yet, I just so, so desperately need to tell you that there is nothing in this life I want more than to give you what pieces I have left of my broken heart to give. If you will take them, they’re yours.

I want to surrender myself to you one more time. You have mended what little there was left of my fragile, aching heart, and I would not hesitate to take it out and give it away to you yet again if you asked. Even if it means that it may break again.

I just can’t tell you this, though. So I’ll just leave it here, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll read it one day.

[especiallythatnight]

You finally came back from that month-and-a-half long trip yesterday.

The time went by surprisingly fast, but I was still impatient to see you again. Surprisingly fast was still not enough to justify how much I had missed you.

I had been picturing the moment of your return and had been replaying it over and over again in my head for the past couple of days.

The relief. The comfort. Melting into each other, embracing each other after a month and a half of nothing but your lingering touches haunting me.

All of it.

And still, that first look at your face and the first hug we shared was more than anything that I could have asked for or expected. 

It wasn’t an overwhelming rush of joy, or even excitement- that’s what I thought it was going to be. But it was different. It didn’t make my heart beat out of my chest, or make me rush or shout or laugh.

Instead, it was as if a wave of calm had washed over me. We locked eyes, and everything I wanted to say before that moment dissolved. I didn’t feel the need to tell you I missed you, or how I had been waiting for this moment. There was no need for that.

There I was, and there you were. And that’s all we needed.

You are my home.

You are my shelter.

And I hope you found shelter in me, just like I did in you.

[especiallythatnight]

My insecurities swirl inside me like tortured waves as I worship your body, desperation mimicking my long-lost religiosity.

My lips wrap around yours: I’m trying to study every bend, dip and curve of your body with mine. Silently hoping that this time, worship might save me from myself. From hurting. From loss.

From losing you.

This is my prayer now: Pleasure and power are my offerings. Your body is my gospel, my place of worship.

My affections have nestled itself in you. My love has rooted in you and flowered into halos around your head. 

This act, then, is an unuttered prayer: A desperate and unspoken affirmation of devotion.

It’s a silent hope, too- that you may see me as something rather divine. Just like how you’re the closest thing to salvation I have right now.

May I become an answer to your prayers; your haven of love and affection, just as you have become one for me.

[especiallythatnight]

Thousands of faces.

I see thousands of faces every day. I walk past them. I watch them come and go, as I do my work in cafés. As I scroll through my phone. I see them as I drift off into sleep, into my dreams.

Thousands of faces, and yet yours is the only one that makes my heart skip a beat.

Every face is a blank canvas, except yours. Yours is something else: It's the warmth of a thousand suns. It's the soft curves of expertly carved marble. It's a love letter to the Gods, to everything beautiful in this world.

What I would see as flaws in myself become perfect imperfections on you, adorning the image of you in my mind like tiny crystals, refracting the light around you into rainbows that only I can see.

You make what I know about the world crumble into a million little pieces. Every experience with you feels like the first snowfall. I'm a child again. The world is full of wonder again.

Thousands of faces.

Thousands of faces, and yours is the only one that makes me feel this way. I pray that in the tsunami of faces that you see every day, that mine stays in your mind, a pillar unmoving. An unwavering presence.

Thousands of faces, and I pray to the Gods that you choose mine.

Because I would not hesitate to choose yours.

Thousands of faces, and yours is the only one that I wish will be my happily ever after.

[especiallythatnight]

“can you believe that we were once lovers?”

I wasn’t expecting that to be the words you uttered, but here we were. Me, sitting across from you in this small and crowded coffee shop, reminiscing about how we were once lovers was not the way I imagined this morning going.

You continue to talk:

“It could have lasted longer” -

Or did you say “should have”? It’s a blur.

What does it mean? Why does it matter? So many questions, unanswered, urgent, were floating around in my mind.

Oh, if only you knew the power you have over me. I silently think to myself.

If only I could show you that there is still a place in my heart reserved for you. If only it were that easy.

I won’t, though - I simply can’t (shouldn’t?) do that. It’s too risky.

So, for now, and maybe for forever, the coffee chats, the occasional texts, the friendly banter that we have with each other will have to suffice.

I’ll mend your shirts, you’ll lend me your books, and life will go on.

I’m okay with that.