It’s getting closer.
And by closer, I mean closer to the day where it all happened.
Maybe you lot or even her could argue that it matters more for her than me.
That I was not the one who was betrayed.
That I was not the one who was stabbed in the back numerous times.
Yet that was not the case– I know that I was not the direct victim.
But it was really painful to see her brought down to her knees and bleeding profusely for something that she didn’t do.
Not to mention that I was powerless, that I just can’t do anything about it.
I was, you could say, totally useless to her.
As much as I’m broken, I’m always thinking on how it felt for her.
People said that, what happened to her is way worse than what happened to me.
It was stupid, honestly.
There’s just no way that people could understand on what other people feel.
They could argue on each other in whatever way that they want.
But they are and will not going to understand each other completely.
It was the thing that I was trying to do.
I tried to get myself inside her shoes and understand how it felt for her.
I was constantly trying, but at the end of the day, I’m not her.
Even thought I argued that I managed to understand her completely, there will always be this part of her feeling that I did not understand.
It was fairly easy at first.
I even said to myself that she was “having a strange chest pain every single day”.
That she might had some pain that sears for hours inside that little body of hers.
That regardless of what she does or doesn’t do at some point in every day, she’ll ended up having her heart on fire that might be begging to leave her body.
Was it stress ?
Was the unbelievable pressure she put on herself and attempt to carry around day after day was finally getting to her that it was actually becoming physical?
Anyone, even therapist, might recommends meditation, drugs, all sorts of breathing exercises, or even trying to switch up her prescription.
But, regardless, at 2 AM, maybe she will roll around, even after all those sayings to calm herself down for hours, the chest pain will stay there anyway.
I said to her and myself that maybe it was because she’s repressing things.
That she should have think more about forgiving those who have hurt them.
That she should have purge herself of things that made her unconsolably sad.
But maybe the chest pain was still there– the kind that not even the doctors, or the shrinks, or even her friends or me are right about why.
Worse, she actually thought that she’s finally given her heart away too many times to people around her that didn’t even understand how to cherish her completely.
And maybe, maybe she thought it was begging her to stop doing it.
That maybe, maybe she thought that was a result of knowing that she had let her guard down when she should have kept it up.
And nothing, not even the most powerful antacid will make her heartburn go away.
Yes, she was heartbroken.
She walked around giving pieces of herself to people who never deserved them in the first place, that made her think that there is nothing left from her to give.
People could argue and say that you can’t die from a broken heart.
But you sure can wake up in the middle of the night and feel it trying to kill you.
The thing was, she refused to let me get close to her.
It was probably the thing that I didn’t fully understand the most.
I was standing in front of her, trying to be a man who inspires within her a love she never thought she would completely feel before.
I was trying to be a man who makes it looks so easy to her in everything, from the dismantling of her worries, the removal of her grit, the dust from her tired heart, the complete bubbling of her feeling, and even the swell of something that she told herself she would never allow inside her bones again.
But, right now, I’m standing in front of her, trying to strip her of her advances, who is trying to take the bricks out of her wall one by one.
Who disassembles years of strength that made her too hard on herself, and reveals to the world the softness of her foundation:
Her spine, her searching fingertips, and her hope.
Yes, I am standing in front of her, wanting to give her the world.
I do not know what she actually feels right now, with all the fact that she actually understand all the things that I am doing right here right now.
And I just can’t stop thinking:
Is she afraid because for the first time since so long, she feels the frost from within her faith starts to thaw? That for the first time, she sees the sun?
That for the first time since so long, she could feel it, warm on her skin, and hot on the back of her neck.
That for the first time since years and years ago, she is unharmed.
Yes, I am a mess, a bloody mess with all that I’ve done.
I’ve made a mess in front of her heart, with all the writings at her wall.
I’ve made a mess of myself with things related to my work.
And not only me, she has made mess for herself and for me, too.
But that doesn’t mean that she needs to be afraid of me,
Or even afraid of anything that I could do to her.
I don’t know, at times, I just want her to get out and talk to me about what I’m doing, and not just closed the door shut, and open windows to other people than me.
Or should I just once again knock at her door?
In front of your door, now stands a man.
A man that has told you that he lives for you, and that he will never leave.
And you have to believe him– you have to trust.
Standing in front of your door is a man who will help you battle your demons.
A man who will hold your hand while you fight the war against your mind.
A man that will watch you as you open your chest and empty out the monsters and the soot and the names of memories you still haven’t faced.
He will see your baggage, your history, piled in front of him.
He will see the great purging of your very soul, and he will love you anyways.
He will love you anyways.
And he’s thinking if he should knock on your door or not.
With one of his bloody hands up, constantly looking at your decorated walls and door, and with his heart and mind weary, but still blazing with love for you.
And he just want to remind you of things about you and him.
Love, you are not a vessel of sadness; you are not a lost cause.
Do not run away this time– do not flee.
In front of your door, now stands a man who sees every phantom within you, and he has chosen to stay, and he has chosen to fight with all that he got.
A man with reckless abandon, that brings more than what the past was able to give you, that life has not always protected the softness of your heart.
And he, he wants do defend you.
He wants to show you what happiness is meant to feel like.
In front of your door, now stands me.
A man who wants to love you, and love you completely.