I would rather have eyes that cannot see, ears that cannot hear, lips that cannot speak, than a heart that cannot love.

 

I had the courage to deem myself unworthy of a love that could have been mine, and I thought back to this wonderful quote to ease the shock that struck upon my fragility as I realized that nobody gets a fair chance at what they want. There is no such thing as fair in this world. You either take and bask, or you free and deal, but one way or another, somebody is going to hold the losing end of the rope, and maybe true love is the willingness to be the one to sacrifice no matter what is bargained.

...

Perhaps it is standing out in the middle of the street, drenched to the bone from the pelting and chilling rain that is nipping away at your skin, but nevertheless remaining in place until you can assure yourself that the person you are waiting for is never coming, because it has been about an hour, and if she cared, she would have called sooner to make sure you did not get caught in the storm. And walking away from the place you have marked yours, disappointed, but possessing that magical ability to lie and say, “No, I forgot too,” even though you are just as cold on the inside as you are on the outside.

The touch of a finger that says so little but means so much, like being grazed across the cheek and hearing her mutter something about how breathtaking you are, despite knowing that she has somebody else in mind, somebody who means a thousand times more, and while she is caressing you, she is thinking of the person who makes her heart jump, void of the notion that she is making your heart scream, and cry, and die.

Final, eternal farewells that do not deserve to be bid, and only are because you know it is your only chance to hold her close for the first and last time in your life. Using any excuse in your reach to make her stay a little longer just so you can watch the way she lights up when you tell her about how much you have appreciated her presence in your life for the past six months, and accepting that she truly means it now when she says, “I have to go,” because that somebody who makes her feel the way she makes you feel is waiting at home.

Having to hear her voice say the word, “Goodbye,” and mean it, because she is never coming back, but not before she also pleads for you to promise you will revert to being that glowing spirit who actually lived life before having met her, and you begin to marvel at how much you have forgotten about reality.

Cliché thoughts about how you would rather leave any room after she has already left, no matter if it signifies you having to watch her walk away from you each time, because at least you will have the last lingering glimpse, and she will not have to see you shed your one tear of defeat.

Owning the most painful words about the way you are bleeding yourself dry, and yet willing yourself to hold back all those suffering utterances for fear that she will feel obligated to mend you when you want to stay shattered to remind you of how real what you felt was, and wishing you would have just gotten one last kiss.

...

Because even though six months is a long time to know someone, it is not nearly enough to love, and I am not done. I have yet to give you as little as half of the love I have housed for you for as long as I have known you, seen you sparkle, heard you sing, felt you live — and if ever awarded the privilege, I want you back.