I Wish

I finally understand now when they say the taste of love is always bittersweet. In fact, it has just dawned upon me that most people actually first taste real love between the ages of 17 to 20. In case I may be seen as an overgeneralist, I must reiterate - most.


Then it makes me wonder, the old greying man at the local dirty coffee shop, the hunched little old lady collecting damp cardboard boxes in the dark dingy corners of forgotten streets. Did they too experience first love?


As a nubling, a young innocent thing, coming of age and falling into the depths of emotions for the very first time.I've thought all there is to be thought of you, said all there is to be said. I realise there isn't much to remember. Or rather, memories are like tape reels. Limited in supply and prone to fail. I realise I can't seem to remember as much as I want to. Perhaps. Memories are limited. There aren't as many as you think there exists.


My best take is that you jot down what you want to remember. Before it all goes away, drowning in the murky depths of time. As well as the hustle and bustle of daily life.I hope I remember you. I know I will for sure. And then there's an abrupt stop. The tape reel ends. My life with you continues so far. And no further.Just as abruptly as it began, it abruptly ended.


Right now, I'll be frank. I don't think you're mature enough to continue this. Or rather, I just don't think you're mature enough. You may think the same for me. But at least, I can tell, cynically or not, or see, the bigger picture. And I hope one day you will.Stop drinking and smoking, lift your burdens and let your heart open again.


Right now, I am afraid. Not because of losing the past. Because the past will always be kept in a secret box, locked in my head and my heart.


This is scary. I don't want to love anyone. I don't want to make myself feel this way. This insecurity. This want. It's as if I want to own you. For myself. Jealously. Selfishly. And for no one else.


I don't like me like that. No, not at all.I try very hard. Very hard. To defend you from others, in my head. Feebly I try, in reality. But no one really believes me. It's hard when the whole world's against you. And I should know that for a fact myself. And I really want to be with you. To refute everyone. To say, "No! That's not true!" But how can I when I don't really know who you are myself anyway?


Maybe I do. Maybe I would have.


If there weren't other voices. But I'm trying. But I am scared. What if I'm trying for nothing? Trying for something that isn't even there? That doesn't even exist?Why the fuck would I want to subject myself to this?You're the kind of guy I can foresee other guys snagging.


The kind of guy I would have such trivial, trifling problems with.


I hate myself.
I hate such affairs.
Small, petty, insignificant.

The rational me would say, here, -dangles a carrot-, you like it, you can have it.


I don't really care.


But then,I find myself jealously guarding what I think I have.
Such jealously is dangerous.Such hypothesy is dangerous.



I wish I could untangle myself from this mess.