How was I supposed to when you stood there all sparkly-eyed, looking at someone else who wasn’t me? He took my breath away, there I was – admiring him as someone else took his.
The butterflies in my stomach, the sparkle in my eyes, the palpitations of my heart – all triggered at the sight of you. These are the things I’m placing into a box, to be buried in to the earth.
Before I get lost in your eyes, before I get myself entangled in your web of words, before I find myself wrapped under your fingers. I have to rid of these feelings before they start damage me any further.
Because let’s face it, I looked into your eyes and found solace in them. I found peace. I remember looking at the stars once and immediately I recalled them glistening brightly through your eyes. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t bring myself to stop looking at you, it’s because I was looking into you.
It was your eyes that I fell for. The pitch-black pupils that stared straight into nothingness, yet there’s a small sparkle of hope when you smile.
Please stop smiling at me, you’re making this way too hard. For the time being, I will unwrap myself from your grip. I will loosen the strings that I thought have brought us closer together. And I will try to control the pace of my heart whenever I look at you.
There never will be an “us”. What remains could only be repertoires of all the hope of what I thought could have been.
That at the end of day the only thing that connects us is nothing but a single thread. A thread of which lines up perfectly, ever-so thinly, held tautly secured by the tug-pulled tension of which will never be reciprocated. I call it the “tug of love,” where feelings are only held strong by those who pull on the threads with equal strength. Too much or too little on either ends will either cause it to break, or to loose stability.
And as for me, I guess that thread would be nothing but a mere thread. Neither taut, nor flaccid. And that, is what makes it so sad.
The thread embodied the bond and connection we had. Even if it were severed, I’d like to bury it into the crevices of my mind, at the deepest parts my memory allows. That I’ve grown to accept we will never be, while remembering of the hope that I once thought we could’ve been.