Long Messages

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If you ask me, what is the one thing that I am most afraid of, I would say aside from insects, and losing someone I care about, it would be your long messages. Long messages that are filled with hurtful truth. The kind of truth that cuts me inside out which nobody but you can do. Bad enough to cause me hyperventilate and I am not exaggerating. Sometimes I feel like I am longing for this sort of pain, ’cause without pain, I wouldn’t be able to feel anymore alive. Like when you were young, you pinched yourself to see if you are dreaming; unfortunately you are in the reality, and that, frightens me a lot. It feels like I made a wrong move, rushed things, did something inappropriate or not right. I am afraid of long messages written by nothing but this heartfelt honesty of yours. Often, I will imagine a conversation that go somewhat like this.

A: Can you hear me?

B: Yes.

A: Did you hear me?

B: Maybe…

A: Why didn’t you respond?

B: …I’m afraid. Most of the time I feel tired. Life could be very disappointing.

I know, I know. How could I not know? There are many times I hollered for someone, hoping someone would come to me and tell me this is just a passing phase and everything is going to be all right. But that is also the thing about pain isn’t it? It demands to be felt. Then I said to myself, ‘what is joy without going through pain’. Usually, the unseen ones are the real pain. The unbearable pain.

That is why it is so important to let certain things go. To release them. To cut loose. People need to understand that no one is playing with marked cards; sometimes we win and sometimes we lose. Don’t expect to get anything back, don’t expect recognition for your efforts, don’t expect your genius to be discovered or your love to be understood. Complete the circle. Not out of pride inability, or arrogance, but simply because whatever it is no longer fits in your life. Close the door, change the record, clean the house, get rid of the dust. Stop being who you were and become who you are.

Paulo Coelho, The Zahir

Believe me, I will always try to make things easier for you.

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Muffin, Muffin

Wouldn’t it be outrageous for me to make a post out of it? You owe me a muffin. I am not sure if my friend is reading this but you owe me a (it doesn’t have to be one) homemade muffin. A muffin that has to be made by you. Think I have just make myself sounded really bad. Bad enough to make myself seem like a demanding child, like I am someone petty. Feelings aside, back to muffin. “Why am I chasing after one muffin like this? It’s not like I can’t afford a muffin,” I mumbled. I hope you did not forget our exchange. You owe me a muffin. #stupidego

“You are not going to cab home, are you?” Kay asked.

“Since you mentioned, I will take the bus.” I replied.

Walking together is always nice when it comes unexpected. We reached your place earlier than I expected. Deep down, I did not want the night to end so soon and so I said, “shall we grab a drink?” You did not hear them wrong. It was structured as a question, but I was not asking. I was notifying in courtesy. *laughs* We got the drinks and headed back to your area, then you claimed that you should go home. That moment, I cannot help but to frown. My left hand then reached for your right elbow and drag you to the gigantic stairs where we sat the other time. Feeling slightly embarrassed to react like a five year old.

But, you still owe me muffin.