“.. It’s hard because there’s no fucking closure.”
“We, humans, do psychologically need closure, especially when we are dealing with a loss. For example, me. I lost both of my parents in a year. I broke up with my boyfriend at that time. And not a single one of them gave me closure.”
“I kept asking myself question on the things that happened. Especially my parent’s death. It gave me so many unanswered questions: What is death? Why did it happened to both of them? Or why the fuck is it so scary? Don’t give me that face. You won’t understand how it feels like until it happened to you.”

She took another drag from the cigarette in her hand.

“And with my ex? It took me 3 years– 3 fucking years to gave myself closure.”
“It was hell, let me tell you. When everything just does not make sense, you have to make sense of it all by yourself. My parent’s death. That nasty breakup. Those. I have to repeatedly say to myself the answer to the questions that was swirling around in my head.”
“And the worst part of it? You have to be satisfied with those answer! Those fucking answers, you hear me? Answers that you might not be able to confirm everywhere in this Earth because the related parties that indirectly gave you the question, was and/or is unable – or might just don’t want – to provide you the answers that you want to hear!”


It was 2:30 A.M.
I was walking through the lobby, about to go home after a day’s worth of work.
As I went through the emergency door, I saw this one particular co-worker of mine.
She’s been in the company for more than 2 years, but we barely talk to each other.
And she was smoking while emptily gazing to the cloudy night sky.
I walked to her slowly, and called her name.
Well, of course she was surprised to find someone at that time.
She and I shared greetings, and talked about work-related topics.

But not for long.

After more than an hour, we started to talked about personal things.
Or at least, it was her that started to ramble about her personal things.
She started with the things that happened with her years ago, that still repeatedly boggle her mind until this very day; why, you ask?

Because, just like what she said: there were no closure.


“But you know the phrase ‘the mind sees what it wants to see’? One could be biased, The person that you want or wanted to hear the answers from might have already gave you the answers that you need– all of them.”
“Yet those answers were not the answers that you want.”

She eyed me angrily while slowly releasing white smokes from her mouth.
I took the cigarette box from her hand, and started playing with it.

“Tell me about it, please. Looks like you’ve known me better. Are you, me? You do not understand how it feels like, to try to make sense of everything when everything does not make sense!”

“While we’re at it, I could say the same thing.”
“I know how it feels like to try to make sense of everything when everything does not make sense. I know how it feels like to search for closure by stupidly asking myself the question that I want that certain person to answer.”
“And I know how it feels like to be forced to live with the answers that are answered by me and for me, myself. It was – and still is – so fucking stupid.”
“I want closure. I want one. I fucking wanted one and I still want one.”

She butted her cigarette, took the cigarette box from my hands, took another cigarette, lit it, and inhaled deeply – the tip was flaring an angry red – and looked directly at me as if she was trying to search for something in my eyes.

“You’ve been hurt before. And the cause, I bet, was a very, very bad one.”
“You want know how I portray you right now? From the way you talk, the way you tell your stories, and from the way you describe yourself? Well, I’m not really that imaginative alright, but I always get my picture right about this kind of thing.”
“It’s as if you’re guarding a thick and plainly visible barrier for your heart.”
“Okay, before you start to say that there are already a lot of people saying that to you, I’m going to say that this one’s different: you’re outside your barrier.”
“You’re not inside your walls, you, are worse: you are guarding your walls outside of it, and apparently making sure that no one is doing anything to those walls.”
“Most people would let anyone trying to do things to their wall, but not you.”
“Look, you seem so warm, you seem so open, but I think that’s a facade. You keep most things to yourself, and you don’t let anyone get close to you.”
“I’m not going to ask anything about it, whether it’s right or not, and if it is, I will also not going to pry more into this matter.”
“Mind you that it was just what I observed. It was purely my opinion.”

Her thoughts made me thinking.
It’s true that people kept saying I have those tall walls that I made for myself jut to keep people out from whatever it is that is happening inside my heart.
But, no one ever said to me that I am actually guarding those walls.

Am I now ?

“Okay, I don’t know what is happening with you, and I might be wrong. But if, let’s say, I’m right, then perhaps you should understand why you do it.”
“Forget about closure. Those assholes – whoever they are – will never give you the right answers. Or at least according to you: the answers that you want.”
“If you are lucky enough, you might be able to get one. But don’t ever get your hopes high over those things called closure from people like that.”
“In fact, I bet you’ve done it– you gave people no closure at one time, maybe.”
“I did it, too. Once.”

I took a cigarette from the box, and put it in my mouth.
I took her lighter, and angrily tried to lit the cigarette, but my hands were slipping, the lighter was just seem to be constantly off from my fingers, refused to be lit.
She took the lighter from me, and start to lit it up.
I looked at her, and saw her smiling.

In that instant, I wondered: how could she find closure in herself?

“How do you find closure? How could you answers those questions?”

I gently shoved her hand away, and she put off the fire from lighter.

“I guess I’m just luckier than most people.”
“Most people need way more time to comfort themselves and finally find closure.”
“And sometimes, sometimes, they never find it for the rest of their lives.”
“Especially on this matter called death.”
“For me, it happens when I stopped trying. I stopped trying to make sense of everything and just be satisfied with the answer that I found just for myself.”
“I guess.. I guess that’s where you know that you accepted something.”
“When you stop trying to make sense of everything.”

She lit up the lighter again, and offered me to light up my cigarette.
This time, I took up her offer, and drag the cigarette in my mouth deeply.
It was the first cigarette I’ve had since more than a year ago.

“… But how do you make sense of love?”
“Do you have to stop trying to love someone to make sense of it? Do you, in this case, have to be satisfied with what you’ve presented to yourself about love?”

“Love isn’t trying. It is what it is– it’s just be.”
“And you do not and do not try to make sense of love, obviously.”
“Because, when you find that one right person, everything just make sense. The love itself is not, mind you. The ‘why’– the reason, will never make sense.”
“But when you love someone, everything about you and that person, will make sense.”

I looked away from her and lifted up my gaze to the sky.
It’s this kind of random talks and random meets – even though she’s not so random because technically she’s my co-worker – that made me thinking about me, myself, the world, and what happened to me, not to mention her.
Even after all of this talk, I’m not even sure with the state of my heart right now; well, she could be right, I might guarding this heart of mine and all.
But, to the right person, to her, would I just voluntarily break down my barriers and show how vulnerable I am to her?

I guess so.


Now, all the 3rd-person female references below this sentence is her.
She once (playfully?) mocked me when I met her and talked to her weeks ago.
She mocked me about one of my post which I wrote that I’ve tried to stop loving her, in which, just like what I wrote, I failed miserably.
But then I rebuked her and say that it has nothing to do with moving on, which because, I said to her, moving on and loving someone are two different things.

I guess she didn’t understand that I tried to stop loving her only and only because I thought it could stop me from trying to make sense of everything that happened between me and her, and I could finally go on with everything.
Turns out, I could still moving forward with all the love inside of me– which, I’m not so sure that I have that love inside of me anymore.
Because, just like what my co-worker said, I guess I’m outside my own heart.
And right now, I don’t even know what my heart really contains, thanks to myself for taking it out and locking it in a cage somewhere else.
I guess, that cage, is the barrier that my co-worker saw.
But, If I may say, I guess I’m still not ready to wear my own heart right now.

At this rate, I’m not even sure if I want to (like I said weeks ago) acknowledge the love that I have for her, not to anyone but myself and her.
No, I haven’t stop trying to make sense of everything, but it’s not a daily thing for me anymore and not as much as I was doing back then.
Thanks to my workload, of course.

And about love, I don’t really know whether it is a bad thing, or a good thing to finally stop trying to stop loving her.

If you think it is a bad thing, let me ask you then: what would you do if nothing has changed even if you tried to do something about it numerous times?
We know that insanity means doing something over and over and over again and expecting different results– and I’m not going to fall into that category.
And I know, maybe, you, also do not want to fall into that category.
So, for the second time : what would you do ?

What would you do when trying no longer works?

What would you do when, you are in my position, and nothing else make sense other than the love that you have for that special person you have in your life?


“… Because love is not rational.”
“And it will never be.”








Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s