I Pine

I search frantically for a way out. For release. There is no escape. There is never an escape. I am trapped.

You're everywhere. Every sight, every sound, every thing. You're around every corner. When I wake, even when I sleep. Memories abound from the slightest of moments, the most insignificant of things. The memories hold on to me. The memories trap me.

You were my yin. You were the other half. The one that was all-opposing, but the one that was all-crucial. Before you, I didn't know what it meant to be fragmented. I never could understand the concept of complement. Now I do. And because I do, I suffer daily.

I suffer because of what I did. I'd say I'm sorry, but you've probably had enough of those. You're sick of apologies, I know. What could I give you back then, at the end, but words? What can I give you now, today?

We were young. I was infantile, puerile. I was idealistic, you were too tolerant of my ways, however wrong they were. We could not afford the luxury of time. We did not have the luxury of space, of distance, or rather, of proximity. They did not hate you. They merely disliked you. And only at the beginning. Did they not warm to you? Did they not treat you as one of their own? But they hated me, and I'm sure they hate me still.

The hurdles we had to face, it was a wonder it worked beyond a moment. The hurdles accelerated closeness, the challenges birthed dependence. Considering all, I still stand and say it was the best ride of my life. We were travelling too quick on a road we did not know. We crashed. Were there any survivors? I want to think so, I want to hope so, but I do not know. I can't read you anymore.

I don't know you anymore.

I am sorry. I am sorry for myself. I was happy. Truly. But I was also indifferent. I was disillusioned with whatever strength I thought we had. I thought we were invincible. I felt we were above all. I was not trusting, I was possesive. I was wrong.

I was but a boy. I am but a boy.

I've tried so very hard to forget, to no avail. To step forward, but only to trip and fall. I've been able to before, time and time again. I'm not proud of it, but I could, I really could. But I can't with you. And that is why I suffer. I suffer because I believe. I suffer because I still have hope. A hope that no matter how hard I try, I cannot leave behind.

There was something special, something nonpareil, something that can't always be found, something that can't be attributed to chance. A something does not come along often, or at all, sometimes. Click. That, I truly believe. And thus, I hurt.

Are you happy? I think you are. And that is the one bit of amelioration I can take away, the only relief. But I admit, I am not that selfless. I have not such altruism. I still want you. Not all to myself as before, but just a part. I want to share.

I want to hold your hand, and I wish to feel you grasp back. One day.

I still have hope. And so I pine. I pine in the dark, I pine silently, all by myself.

I am but a boy, but this boy has learnt. This boy will not repeat the same mistakes. They have proven to be far too costly.

This entry was posted by tsh, on Sunday, May 08, 2005. You can bitch back.