Now that Taylor Swift’s got something for us (again), which is downright a dire need for the betterment of everyone’s mental state during a pandemic (if you’re unfortunate enough to be nowhere near New Zealand), I thought of something.
It’s been 11 years since Love Story was released and yet, something about the song brings you back to the time when it was first released. And now it feels like you’re listening to a music box with memories enclosed to it. You know, like a playlist made special for a certain someone who comes together with a mellifluous reiteration of a memory?
we all do.
The song just hits us, the second time around. This time, with all the childhood innocence gone and we’re actually thinking of our own Romeo, or Juliet perhaps, with a new set of eyes. Still, the song feels the same. After all these years, it came back as something new, something you would not even expect would come back to you.
but then again would it be safe to say that it’s not just a song? It’s a person you have always loved, yet hidden in the depths of your sorrows. After all, it is a song we all come back to, reliving the sculpted memory through a melody. Like an old photograph waiting to be viewed, and an old mixtape waiting to be heard.
As the song plays, there was a person, whom we’ve been waiting for. After all those years, the feelings remained, only that, we wouldn’t expect this kind of thing. The same song sung differently.
And as we thought it was just it, there is something more than what we expected.
We have hope, after all.
“Knowing was not that really hard,” he replied after a puff. The burning heat was tracing the curves of his body, embracing its entirety. “still into you.”
“It’s easy to look at but we don’t really know.” She looked at her friend, fanning out the smoke. Facing the road for another round of philosophical walk.
“His mind, i mean. He doesn’t let anyone in. He doesn’t let his guard down.” she stopped and let the cars pass by. The afternoon noise started to get louder, nearing the heart of the city.
“You still understand him though, for whatever reason.” They crossed and reached the other side, heading to the north where the peace in them resides. “And i know he doesn’t let anyone in, but it isn’t his head,” he walked further, “it’s not rocket science, It’s just what he feels. You don’t need to think too hard.”
Emerged with the stillness of the morning sun rays and the scenic plateau gave her a perfect view for a change of point of view, receptive of the perception of one and two, and whatever lies between those truths.
The lady beside her was indeed a part of her so called soul family. Sometimes knowing the whys and hows about her without even asking, or with no required briefing from her. The lady just understood her, like they bore the same sorrows of the past and have the same means to continue moving forward.
She take a gulp on her hot drink, observing the pastures of the majestic purlieu. “I’m ready for your morning roast.”
“Isn’t it too early for that?” The lady gawked at her friend. Calming herself from the storm inside her, rummaging through her deepest thoughts against her will.
“Never too early.”
“You use words as your armour.” The lady started, and her friend stopped for a hearty laugh. She knew that very well.
“You look strong yet you’re so, so fragile at the same time that you unknowingly hurt people around you because you thought you were protecting yourself.” The lady added salt to her wound, which she would oddly preferrer rather than burying it in her deep seated psyche. She knows it will soon come for her throat.
“You knew you’re very fragile, and so you made this armor so you wouldn’t get hurt. But you took it off the moment you let yourself be vulnerable to him, didn’t you?”
She smiled. Acknowledging what her friend just said. She put down her drink, rested her back against the tree, and looks at the skies for a plea.
She knew exactly what she did.
“I have no honeyed words to speak” she whispered in his ear, and the mind entire. She is yet to demonstrate the destabilizing truth she has casted beneath every word she says. Keeping it sealed and intact, locked away somewhere in a palace.
“Please, there must be something.” and hearing those, her heart would ache anew, burning in her bosom. an inferno within the thickness of her skin, burning from deep within.
It had always been her faux play that’s seen often, the nasty, tingling, and fluster inducing words and actions simultaneously expressed, contrary to what she’d want to make him feel.
It’s not even a half of the truth.
But after all, she never lied. She revokes in silence, creating another dimension inside where she can freely speak and express. Some enchanted, wondrous jungle no one has ever been.
And true to it’s description, The winds were swift to make the dune. Piling up the particles every time she felt for him, and wished she could say so.
There’s this world where everybody knows the truth, and within those truth are the rejoicing wind that piles the dune up, making a way for a deserted forest she hoped she could take him to.
“I know how you feel for me. But there’s something wrong with this.”
There is. It’s the desert. The dune that could bury her whole whenever she feels. All for him. A quicksand that would swallow her whole.
Blindly walking into the darkness of the boudoir, she dwelled further. Taking in the gentle touches of the air onto her skin, swaying off the weight of the day that had gone.
She opened up a bottle of wine, didn’t even bother getting a glass and poured it directly into her alcohol thirsty tubular organ. Letting it get her best, and enjoying it for a long night rest.
A delicate voice hums to soothe her soul, some partnered tune that made them groove. Reliving some memories she didn’t want to let go. And at the very end, it didn’t seem to vanish and worn that made it even harder for her to move and go.
She gulped another mouthful of the chateau red, with droplets of saline falling through the softness of her cheeks.
It’s the problem, is it? The mind. The memories. Or the mind itself that couldn’t let go of the memoirs that continue to live on. In her heart and in her soul.
It wasn’t a problem having a life that’s lived. It’s having a slippery thoughts, ascending from reality and dreaming of the past. Living on what she wished would last.
Breathlessly walking in an immovable disgust and discomfort and ill-mannered stares is what was considered normal in the very own perspective of she, a woman.
she must have gotten used to it, but it wasn’t like it’s something that ought to be normal. It should never be normal.
she might have been already naked in their eyes. She walked even faster, but their whistles got her shivering.
Why should she be scared anyway? She was a woman, who says whatever she wants to. she fights like a mad woman, scorned and would never accept loss.
She did nothing wrong. She just wanted to pass by, and it isn’t like she would be condemn for it. Besides, silence still breaks barriers.
“Shut the fuck up, you disgusting pieces of shit.” She gave them the hand, and briskly walked away.
Unbeknownst to the woman standing in front of a picturesque night scenery in a foreign land where she doesn’t know anyone, something’s waiting for her to comeback and retaliate.
She waits for it too. She waits for the white flags to raise, but it was hard on her, as she has to work hard for it to happen. She can’t just stand there and wait. She had to work on everything to make a change, which felt like a withdrawal. Yet, she knew it has to happen. She tried and did everything which in fact got her sitting in a plane ride in an overseas trip. Away from everyone and everything.
Her mind raced through the trail of thoughts that kept her awake for months. Replaying every moment she felt, which she would normally refuse to.
“Let yourself feel. Your emotional detachment can’t save your mind.” Her therapist would say. She smiled at that thought. So this is how it feels like? When you know what’s wrong with you, but you still needed confirmation, you need someone to rub it in your face that you’re not okay.
She got used to being “okay,” or at least be in a long methodical theatre play of being okay, that she didn’t know if she got along with it, or it was just sweeping everything under the rug.
“I hope you make it.” She heard his whispers to the wind, changing her thoughts of ending it.
Brows furrowed, she closed the distance that parted her from the man. The evening breeze of the pre-fall wind embraced her whole body, which slightly shivered underneath her linen and wool fabric garments.
“ready to throw your hands?” he joked.
she kept a straight face, testing her very own patience. Being out for a few hours was sure boring, but she was surely unfazed.
“Look, i’m sorry, i really am.” He went on with his reasons. And she went on with her thoughts.
It was a wonder how he doesn’t even have to speak, or to sort out how sorry he was. She understood. She knows his soul that much.
“i’m throwing everything out.” His face illuminated the sinister the word brought him. And before he could speak, her small, convincing voice sang into his ears.
Her eyes glistening with deep adoration, he looked onto the window of his soul. “i’m gonna throw my anger in the pits, that’s it.”
Unknowingly, we did
doing all those things that friends wouldn’t
those things that friendship exceed
that we tried to fight but we just couldn’t
and here we are now
from friends that bear the same sorrow
to lovers that felt like a yesterday’s borrow
yet here we are now, about to take a vow
At times, i wonder
if i didn’t fall for that perfect smile
that made me fall and surrender
would i make it through this aisle?
and side by side we snuggle
brushing our teeth in front of a mirror
which made me stop and chuckle
bearing a thought that made me slightly shiver
we will grow old and weaker
that perfect set of teeth could fall out and wither
yet, i couldn’t care and further
i’d still love you and your smile, forever.