The love I knew was a broken feeling. Ruined fraction of a human being. Shattered into words of self-deprecating and midnight thinking.
The love I met was in a dream. The worst kind of wishful dreaming.
With eyes closed and a full running mind, consisted of people whose existence is around but have been far way long gone.
I met love only when I let myself to be taken over into the unconscious world. Romanticized by a dead logic and a handful of feelings that is kinda sick.
The love I knew was pain. One-sided, unrequited, red blooded. The kind of pain that makes you want to scream with a tied tongue; the kind of pain when a wingless bird learn to fly.
The love I knew was never wants more.
Expecting miracle but swallowing every reality only to be awaken to the utter veracity, that love is not always pretty. It’s a monster ready to devour my entire endeavor.
The love I knew was being on the other line waiting for him to pick up.
Consumed with the last time it happened, he never did. On the last second I am the one who hang up.
It is an indecision to call him. Between the slurring and the numb I found bravery to dial. Only on that exact moment, no less or more, and ended up feeling stupid after.
The love I knew was his short companion and my long lasted feeling. They are long lost friends connected with a similar people they know of. For days, months, years, it all has gone by without ever saying goodbye.
The love I knew was a heartbreak. Hidden behind every stories of her he always told. Buried inside every moment he found another person to feel the void of his own existence.
The love I knew was an on and off without any button. Broken machine no one could ever repair. Uncontrollable, undeniable, wrapped around with a delusion. Grows further without any affection in return.
I am so sorry I never learn the proper way of loving or being loved.
For all I know, love is everything about what I knew it was about.