14-12-2015.

17:54

Rant time.

“You rant about things every single day.”

I know, I know.
But when I literally said it’s rant time, I meant it.

I drank three cups of black coffee last night.
Spent my whole night writing poems.
My draft box is filled with unpublished poems.
I was on killing spree.

And I haven’t even slept yet.
Plus, I am having my 5th cup of coffee right now.

I looked at the calendar.
3 months ago, at this day, ‘that’ happened.
One dreadful event.
I don’t know what she is doing right now.
Is she even thinking about what happened to her?
About how much her heart has turned cold and numb?
By God, it’s been months and I still can’t act steadily when a particular day comes.
Our anniversary date, and now this.
It feels like I’m on a roller-coaster of feeling.
Going up or down every single day.

She was not like that.

Her heart wasn’t always encased in a block of ice.
Her guard wasn’t always up towards people.
That big tall wall in front of her soul wasn’t there.
Betrayals changed the climate of her heart.
It might be raining all day here in my place, and there on her place.
But in her heart, it’s freezing.
It’s snowing everyday.
That event made her unable to trust the world Love.

I get it.

I understand.

But she still deserves something real.
Something true.
She deserves better people than those who left her.
She deserves Love.

Yet, she left me anyway.
Even though she completely understands that what we have is real.
Oh, I know what she would say if she reads this.

“I can’t.”

My heart aches thinking of what happened to us.
I actually tried to bury my heartache with my words.
Well, it worked.

For few hours.

She’s my words.
I breathed life into her in my writings.
Yet when I was done writing, she crawled into my head.

I looked at my right.
And I saw a mirror.
I saw myself.
I stared blankly for a long time.

She has left.
Off wandering to somewhere I don’t know.

And I thought to myself,

“Is this just a bad dream? Am I actually awake?”
“What if I crawl and beg and cry and scream at her feet?”
“Would she look at me and come back to me? would she help me stand up?”
“Would that melt her heart?”
“Would I be awake from this nightmare I’m having?”

I didn’t find any answers.
If waking up from dream would be as easy as killing oneself like in the movie Inception,
if I could alter reality just by blinking few times,
I would’ve done it countless times.

You see,
I tried to put myself in third-person view.
Not me, not her, but in other people’s shoes.
How other people would see me or her.
The first question that came to my head if I looked to myself being like this was :

“Why her? What is so special about her? Why are you so obsessed about her? Alright, I get it, she’s your muse. You love her very, very, very, very much. That is plain to see. But, why? Why is the main question here.”

I scoffed. At myself.
And I thought,

“Yeah, why? What is it about her?”

I’ll be totally honest and blunt.

She’s not beautiful, nor pretty like models.
But she’s beautiful.
Get it? Not beautiful, but beautiful.
Not physically.
She’s so little and so frail.
Heck, a strong wind would blow her away.
She hates make-up.
Unlike other girls, her sense of fashion is just completely ordinary.
She hates high heels.
She’s awkward with people.
She’s a bit slow under pressure.
She would immediately be speechless when shocked.
Her smile and laugh are contagious in a special way.
And she’s just the best at making extremely weird faces.

But, those things, those silly stupid things.
Are what makes her so special.

She’s beautiful in her own way.
She’s beautiful for her ability to smile even if she’s sad inside.
For those sparkles in her eyes when shes talking about things she loves.
She’s beautiful for her emotional inner strength.
She definitely is NOT beautiful for something as temporary as looks.
I won’t even care if, God forbid, she even goes bald and cant grow any hair on her head.
She’s beautiful because she’s always being herself.

What’s more, I fell in Love with her words.
People’s souls are invisible.
But, when people write, sing, draw, or make an art,
That invisible part, will become visible.
I guess this is why people said that writers put their souls outside their body.
I read her words. Filled with power.
I saw her soul.

Her very soul, is magnificently beautiful.

And nobody, NOBODY has the right to make her feel like she’s not.
Perhaps I’m blinded by Love, or maybe I’m just a fool.
But her inner beauty has captured my heart.
If that doesn’t answer the question, I’ll just go with this ultimate answer:

“I don’t know. I just love her because she is what she is. That’s all that I know.”

That answer could never go wrong.

……

Dear Love,

I guess I’m going mad.
Perhaps because I haven’t had any sleep since 31 hours ago.
Perhaps the caffeine has poisoned my blood and my brain.
Perhaps it’s from all that killing-spree writing thing.
Or perhaps it’s simply because today is 14th December.

I’m sorry that I said stupid silly things about you.
Those things might be cheesy, I know.
But my feelings don’t lie.
That was exactly how I feel about you being so beautifully imperfect.

And those words –
Those words I said about describing your beauty;
Felt so cliche and offensive compared to your true loveliness.
Even those poems I wrote for you about your fairness?
They are a complete understatement of what you really are.

Does the lack of sleep is messing up with my brain?
Am I drunk from Love ?
I don’t know.

All I know, I suddenly feel so bloody weak and tired now.
I still want to write things in my book.
But I need to get plenty of sleep.

I promise, I’ll try to dream about you.
In the most beautiful way possible.

Love,
Yours.

V.A.C.W.

 


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