Realization

It was a normal Sunday and I was normally browsing around the Internet, looking for some way to entertain myself. Only that with the corner of my eye, I spotted your digital picture resting on the desk.

I have to admit that I stared at it for quite a while. Yeah, embarrassing, I know, I know. But I didn't knew what else to do since my hands had stopped and were just resting on my knees. And where else could have I looked? The other way? Out the window? At the screen displaying thousands of pictures in front of me? Could have I looked anywhere else when you were there, when your smile was there, present like this heart that beats inside my chest?

No.

So I took my time to analyze your face, the shape of it, the traits, the small spots from an old acne burst, the eyes, the bridge of the nose that's a little bulbous towards the tip, the lips - oh, so kissable lips!, all pink and soft, the stubborn chin. And I wondered: "Why do I like/ kind of love him anyway?". Answer? There's no real answer that wouldn't sound like a lie or a cheesy, stupid thing a girl in love would say. Maybe I like you because you're so fluffy, that you're stubborn and snap easily. Or maybe it's because when you smile you show around 24 teeth... or maybe it's because you have cute ears. Or maybe it's the lips that make me smile when I think of you. It couldn't be your strange personality, your multi-talented hands or the over-confident attitude you make me put up with every single day, even in my dreams. 

People told me to stop dreaming - you're not real. And yet there you are, flesh and bones, heart and blood, smiles and laughter, frowns and glares - you're there.

People told me that my love is admirable. But they couldn't be more wrong. I do love you. I love you from the bottom of my heart even though I do not say it the way you're supposed to hear it. I love you so much that if love was fuel, I'd be able to go around the world and never run out of it. I love you so freakin' much that it kind of hurts at times when I realize just how silly I am when the night comes... But they are all wrong, my love ain't admirable at all. It's kind of an old cliché as I don't really know what to do with my love, actually. I could fuel some other fire, I could pretend to love some other guy and secretly think of you. I could watch you closely and never approach you. It's the bad kind of love, the poisonous one, the one it incapable of turning into hate and is everlasting. It's the one you meet only in fairytales... My love is scary.

Someone told me never give up on what I am and what I hold dear. Again, a cliché wish of them to be like me, of them to live with what I feel. But if they knew, if they could feel it even for a second, they would see how close to bursting my heart is, how difficult is to actually breathe, knowing you won't be really there... ever. Not ever.

But a dreamer lives for her dreams, even when they pull her underwater. I am drowning each day and I never stopped to actually wonder if it's worth keeping a love like the one I have for you. You'll never hear me, never will you lay your eyes on the unappealing me. This is the realization that made me fight the high waters invading my lungs, that made me actually wish for the shore to be closer to my tired hands. Dear, I'm tired of swimming and I don't want to drown. I'm tired of gulping salty water, of fearing what circles me. I'm tired of fighting with the tide, with the currents and the waves. But then again, I won't go down without a fight! I will not drown in this... this... this love! For if I do close my eyes, you're there. And once you're around, I will never ever be able to leave your imaginary side.

I don't want to be crazy.

I swear it was a normal Sunday and that I was normally staring at your photo.

But you're so far away and permanently surrounded by people that care for you, that shower you with their love for you, for what you are and what you mean that it's actually kind of painful for me to watch. So, since my love is no longer useful (was it ever, useful?) I'd like to have it back now, please. Give me back my heart and all my dreams, 'cause I think I have a jar of broken dreams hidden somewhere under the bed and this one will act like seal. And I will never ever talk about you again, never ever remember you, never ever trust this beating heart of mine that seems to be malfunctioning...

It was a normal Sunday when the normal realization was born in my mind: it's time to let you go 'cause you have no use of me anymore. You've got your friends, you've got millions of others willing to give their hearts to you. I don't want to be a bleeding heart in the crowd. So today, I take my heart back to mend it, to make it work in sync with the brain. 

It was a normal Sunday and I was dreaming of running away with your love, lock myself in a rocket and fly to the moon, never to return...