It was a quiet Sunday. I decided to meet someone I barely knew.
I got off a train to the city and pulled out my phone in the middle of light rain. He sent me his location. Deep inside I was a bit anxious, meeting someone I’ve never met before. I found him in a corner of street coffee shop. He was staring at his laptop and I stood in front of his table for a moment, making sure that was him. He raised his chin and smiled at me. I pulled out my hand as he immediately shook mine. I sat down after I ordered a cup of joe. I lit my cigarettes and the small talks began while he was still doing his script works until he decided to close the laptop then asked me in the eye where I wanted to go.
We eventually went somewhere we’ve never been, for the sake of curiosity and an escapee before start a new week.
You don’t fall in love like you fall in a hole. You fall like falling through space. It’s like you jump off your own private planet to visit someone else’s planet. And when you get there it all looks different: the flowers, the animals, the colours people wear. It is a big surprise falling in love because you thought you had everything just right on your own planet, and that was true, in a way, but then somebody signalled to you across space and the only way you could visit was to take a giant jump. Away you go, falling into someone else’s orbit and after a while you might decide to pull your two planets together and call it home. And you can bring your dog. Or your cat. Your goldfish, hamster, collection of stones, all your odd socks. (The ones you lost, including the holes, are on the new planet you found.)
And you can bring your friends to visit. And read your favourite stories to each other. And the falling was really the big jump that you had to make to be with someone you don’t want to be without. That’s it.
P.S: You have to be brave.
I was on a self-loathe last week. I hate myself, people, and everything I did was a wrong version of an alternate universe. My head wouldn’t shut up at night and sleep til’ noon messed me up as fuck, until I thought I just need some solitary and a lil’ bit of fun.
I saw you flirt with the breeze as you breathe. I stole a look when you told me the story of seven seas. I knew from the first time I met you two years ago, you are something rarest I found in a million light of years. I felt the touch on the back of your hand when you still wondered if God knows that your effort is the most consistent, reliable thing in your life. I don’t even know what this kind of feeling is. You are just impossible. You told yourself you want to come back home, but you never know what is home. We met on the right time, yet you ran again. Why couldn’t I catch you?
I will be counting raindrops till we meet again. Hoping that I’ll catch you someday.
It was all started 7 years ago.
I met this guy, a mature and beautiful guy. He said he liked me. My parents liked him, my family adored him, everyone told me to be with him, yet some people had a bitter thought of the idea of me being with this guy simply because he just didn’t deserve me.
At the sound of my name, those two worlds on either side of me collide, and my lips meet his. Time ceases to exist, and so, apparently does any logic that my mind is hanging on to. Logic would say that this is insane; every other fibre of my being says it’s right.
– Dianne Hardy
An honorable human relationship – that is, one in which two people have the right to use the word “love” – is a process, delicate, violent, often terrifying to both persons involved, a process of refining the truths they can tell each other.
It is important to do this because it breaks down human self-delusion and isolation.
It is important to do this because in doing so, I do justice to my own complexity.
It is important to do this because I can count on so few people to go that hard way with me.
Now, was it even real?