When life becomes a fairytale.

You bring me the kind of clichéd joy that is only found in books: the feeling of falling hopelessly and irrevocably deeper and deeper for someone with each passing second.
Everything about you is wonderfully lovely. In every single way.

Last night was truly enchanting.

Let’s do it again sometime.

 

Don’t go.

I refuse to become that girl. I refuse to look like her. I refuse to sound like her. I refuse to have any form of connotation to her.
It’s not me. It has never been me. It can never be me.
I refuse to conform into this all-consuming world when all I want to do is push against the walls that surround me. I refuse to let my morals loose and fall into the world where I fell into so long ago. I don’t want to change my ways. I don’t want to let go.

But swimming against a current is much too tiring; pushing through a crowd is far too exhausting; keeping my head above water is near enough impossible.
They say sin is sweet, and that it is, yet this is so ostensible: the sweet nectar from the world’s pleasures congeal and coagulate in the body, forming thick tar and resin in the bloodstream. The darkness overpowers, and soon there is nothing left but a shattered core: all that is left is an empty shell of a person running dry.

Don’t let me succumb. Don’t let me go. Don’t let me submit.
I don’t want to go back there again.

A beautiful evening.

You’re so enchanting. So breathlessly enchanting.
Your presence captivating, your eyes absorbing.
Your smile evoking, your laugh heart stopping.

A real gentleman, acquainting you made my month.
I eagerly await the day I’ll see you next.

You say one thing, yet do the other.

Avoidance.

You want me back.

I’m sorry, I just don’t understand. Why now? Why after six months of torture and pain and tears it is now that you regret all of your malicious behaviour? Why is it now you finally open your arms again when you pushed me out into the cold all that long ago?

You tell me that you’re sorry. You tell me that you regret every hurtful action, every heart destroying word. You’re repentant for destroying me inside and out. And I believe you. I forgive you.
But I can’t let history repeat itself.

I can’t go back, and I won’t go back darling. No amount of love letters, apologies, tears or pleas can stop that.
I’m walking forward in life, physically and emotionally, and there’s no way I can turn back. I’m too far gone.

Just because the scars are healed doesn’t mean they have faded.

The art of loving, and being loved.

Two of the most life altering strands of life, which normally, braid together and make something whole: true love. But, for me, these stories lie parallel to each other.

The boy, whom will never let me go. Beautiful in a much overt sense, he embodies the very ideology of masculinity. He is charming, yet quaint. Exciting, yet reliable. So whimsically enthralling and captivating, yet leaves me somewhat empty.

Then there’s the boy whom I will never let go. So easily overlooked by others, yet so profoundly enchanting to me. He is so poignant, and so different from any other boy I know; a boy with depth and personality that would shake mountains. Being in his presence is both electrocuting and exhilarating. But we hold something I cannot bear to lose: a friendship which I hold so dearly and lovingly the world itself would crumble without his presence.

It would be so much easier to be loved, and learn to love, rather than love and lose.
Standing at the cross roads, I have no idea where to tread: the path to contentment, or to fulfillment? The guaranteed or the questioned?

Truth is, I know the answer. I just can’t bear to accept it.

You.

Your voice penetrates my ears like nails on a chalk board, cutting my eardrums as the noise resonates through my body.
Your face wretches my eyeballs, streaking my cornea with blurs of blood, tears and lost hope.
Your silhouette haunts my dreams, like a distant nightmare, your presence never fails to stalk my footsteps.
Your words linger, your laugh soul-destroying.

Each and every part of you, from your brittle fingers to the half crooked sneer, breaks me apart.
Six months gone and some dark, soulless, part of yourself once again begins to emerge.

Just let it go darling, just let it go.

When everything seems right.

When the world feels stable for the first time in years,
When each step taken seems to lead to the right direction,
When confidence reigns over cautiousness,
When hope intercedes desire; when dream becomes reality,
When silence becomes laughter, and longing becomes found.