Someone said to me that drinking alone is pretty much miserable.
But I would have to disagree to that right now.
Because in this intoxicated state, I am feeling much happier than I usually am.
Yes, okay, the “me” inside might be miserable and all, I don’t know.
Maybe I’m feeling lighter and happier because of the alcohol.
Or maybe, maybe it’s just because the demons are finally out.
And they are circling atop my head like vultures.
Snarling, waiting patiently for the right time to go in for the kill.
I need no one.
I am happy, I am contented, and somewhat independent.
Believe me; well, even if you don’t, do you really have a reason not to?
I don’t know, she might not believe me and all.
But the thing is, we, all of us, are used to this modern world, filled with people that are strong and independent: I-don’t-need-anyone-to-be-happy kind of people.
At times – maybe this time – I could say that I always have somebody.
I have my families, friends, co-workers, and I have my love to give to her.
I do NOT even have to ask for love.
I don’t need it.
She might say that she does not need it too.
She and I, we shrug our shoulders like they bare no weight.
Both of us turn our faces like no one is worth remembering.
Both of us, walk away as though there is never a trace of our lingering glances through the crowded street and places we’ve been together.
As if the encounters we had were only dreams that we would never be able to recall, as if our hearts didn’t skip a single beat for the possibility of what could be.
Both of us burned the chemistry that, for one moment had felt like that was it.
She took a step back and refused me to break her walls.
Later not so long after that, I did the same thing.
I’ve built my walls, higher than ever.
Quickly both of us shut down, and no one is ever let in.
And I have done everything – every single thing to keep it that way.
I like how cool and chill people think I am right now.
I get off on the control I have over my emotions and feelings.
Until one day and for many days surrounding me, are the faces I do not feel a thing about, and the souls I just can’t touch.
I’m somewhat trapped between my shivering skin and the heated bodies that strangely feel so foreign on my own self.
I forced myself to go back into the void, but all I could find is her name inside of me I’ve been trying so hard to cover up.
And I failed.
I craved, and I ached for her.
Maybe I’m delusional, but I could feel, and hear things that related to her.
I could somewhat feel her reaching out to me, but never dare to say it out loud.
I could hear her cry, silently, behind the very happy smiles and the exuberant laughter that she have that could easily deceive anyone around her.
I could sense emptiness when her little feet navigate their way towards me.
Call me silly, or whatever it is that you want, but I know.
I know because she and I are no different.
She and I, are both the same people who speak the same emotional language.
Both of us are perhaps too proud to admit that we crave something from each other, and sometimes at night, all we ever want is a genuine smile from each other.
And maybe more than that.
Maybe we both need love from each other in our sobriety.
If, and only if she, and I, ever dare to whisper that word to each other.
Hah, what am I saying.
I’m sure as soon as the sun comes up later, and maybe, when she and I sleep long enough for this night to become a memory, both of us will forget about the things that I’ve written, and tell ourselves that we, were being mistaken.
Yes, we will feel embarrassed and hurriedly conceal it from anyone.
Just like me hiding this very blog from anyone– ANYONE, but her.
Both of us will act as if nothing has happened, and both of us will keep waiting to be blown away for the day all the fantasies we have for our future are finally fulfilled, and we meet our ideal self who definitely never has to ask for love.
We – both of us – sadly leave the time to pass us by.
We leave our vulnerable moments swept away by the current time into a long gone past, and stupidly join the force of the strong and independent who – they say – have it all together and so perfect.
We said to ourselves, we’re smart!
We said to ourselves, we’re capable to do things!
And we said to ourselves countless times that we will go on to do great things and our lives will seem perfect, and ONCE again we do not need anything at all.
Not even love.
But is that so? Will our lives ever be perfect it we keep doing it?
I say, when the night like this comes again, and alcohol once again gets into my system, or when her mind and my mind are cluttered with thoughts,
Thoughts that show no mercy to both of our fragile souls, that made us look around without our own-made glasses and we actually see no one but each other,
How are we going to hide from our demons?
How is she and I going to pretend to each other?
How is she and I going to lie to each other– or most importantly, ourselves, again just to satisfy ourselves to be happy even if it lasts for just few hours?
How, is she and I going to hide ourselves?
How is she and I going to conceal our bodies and souls when suddenly the truths are stripped naked in front of each other– in front of our eyes,
And suddenly, she and I just got nothing, and even nowhere to hide?
Is she and I going to once again take pride as our shield and full-plated armor? Letting it get inside our head, and letting it fill its voice in our head, saying that we do not want to be vulnerable, and we do not want to look weak?
Are we going to put on pride as our brooch, and never accept that we still feel a LOT of things for each other– that we still feel the very same loving bloodlust?
Are we going to say not in a million years to that in our sobriety?
Maybe not in times like this, after three-quarter bottle of Vodka and she is the only person I could ever think of.
Maybe not in the day I blamed alcohol that made my feelings go out of my cage.
And absolutely not in the day I shed tears whenever I’m reminded of her.
Are we going to put on pride as our necklace, and will never have another start?
Is it because of pride, that we will never reach out to each other again?
Is it because of pride, that we will never say sorry to each other?
Or, the worst:
Is it because of pride, that we WON’T be truthful to each other’s heart ever again?
Are we going to keep our heads high and our hearts safe behind our walls?
Are we going to keep our feelings caged, and just looking at the screens in front of us, daily, that shields both of us from the reality of a possibility?
Is that how she and I will never ask each other? Because of pride?
Is it because of pride, that she and I will never catch each other’s eyes again to read the words that were never spoken or written?
Is it because of pride, that she and I will never find out other secrets that we were so eager to give to each other but eventually become hidden away like this?
Is it because of pride, that she and I, will turn our heads away from something that is tying our paths together? Something that filled with honesty, bravery? Something that is just so real, and amazing?
Isn’t this so fucking stupid?
She and I are adults, yet we, are still so stupid.
And, once more, because of both of our prides, or maybe because of fear, we will NOT even want to admit that we are actually being so goddamn stupid.
Maybe not in sobriety later.
But, right now, I am going to admit that I am stupid, yes I am.
Both of us know about each other very closely.
Both of us are actually still living, breathing.
Both of us are still thinking, and still bleeding.
My plates– my armor and shields, are scattered around me right now.
I hate sobriety at this hour, I hate how I cage my feelings when I’m sober– at how I ignore my heart that’s screaming my love for her.
I hate how pride is taking control on both me and her.
I hate how we conceal our truths and hide ourselves behind our walls.
I hate how we pretend that we think that everything is fine and all.
I hate how both of us raise our chins, turn our heads, and stubbornly refuse to be the first to say anything while expecting to go miles to chase each other.
I hate pride, I hate sobriety, I hate levelheadedness.
I hate how both of us – even people – pretend to ourselves almost all the time.
And most importantly, I hate how she perfectly veils herself behind her mask.
I just hate how she could wipe away her tears and put on her favourite mask,
but, deep inside, I could still taste loneliness drying on her cheekbones.
And it’s bitter as hell– even way more than the hell itself.
God, I need to sleep.