Love is selfish sometimes. Or is it just me?

These last couple of weeks, my life, body and mind feels as if it is filled with so much rage, darkness, and confusion. I could still feel the fire inside of me. Sometimes I could feel that everything is out of control.

Lately, I have been hating all of my writings that is created with prosaic words. All of it has become more or less a love letter of some kind that I write for no one except myself and amidst the frustration in me, instead of coexisting between the words that I wrote, I only created and resurrected pain and confusion into all of those sheets. It created a burning desire in me to burn all of my books of poems.

I can't seem to put my rage into words. I can feel the rage in me, just not in my words. Just not in my poem. It only sounds like pleading. Its pathetic.

Those pages, those sheets, are like a mirror to me and to be frank with you, I don't like what I'm seeing. I don't like what I have become because I have become lang leav when I'd rather be sylvia plath without the suicide part. but I guess, you can't always get what you want, right?

Anyway, life hasn't really been treating me good lately.

Well, I guess that's not true. Its been treating me fairly, but its just the human nature in me to keep complaining and ask for more. For something better.

Because when you finally see things more clearly, but you still don't like what you're seeing, maybe that's because the only thing left to see is you and the reflection of who used to be, or who you are or who you're going to be and you simply don't like what you're seeing.

Because, do you wanna know one of my deepest secret? Sure, you do.

To tell you the truth, I've always wanted to be a poet but I guess at some point in life, it would be nice to also be a poem.

I don't think that anyone ever wrote a poem about me, let alone a book of poem. But what I know is that someone dedicated... (fill in a blank) for me. Its his way of showing that his love is true and real. I took it for granted and now when I looked back at it and see what he wrote about me, about us, I don't like what I'm reading. I don't like it one bit. Do you wanna know why? Because it shows how selfish I was. How I couldn't see that I wasn't the only one hurting.

Wait.

No, that's not true.

I know that the both of us are hurting, I just didn't know we were hurting from the start.

The other worst thing is how I took it all for granted. How I missed my chance and watched him walked away.

But in spite of it all, what he didn't know is that he left a fragment of his love in me, for me. In a way, I could feel it but it feels so far away. No longer within my grasp.

A friend of mine and I was talking yesterday about love and all I could say is that, "no one can yet handle the immensity of my love," and he said, "no boy deserves to handle your idea of love at this moment."

But what is MY idea of love? I don't even know. I never know. I wrote poems about it, I feel it, but I don't really know what my idea of love is. If anyone ask what my idea of love, I'd probably say that love equals trust issues. Because,

Trust issue. 

It has a way of preventing you to feel all the love you can get.

It has a way of taking your source of happiness and turn it into your source of loneliness.

It has a way of taking everything from you.

Because, sometimes it doesn't guard you from the pain you're going to endure, it only guard you from the love you deserve and the love the people around you deserve to receive from you.

But love could left you feeling all bitter inside.

Especially when life finally gave you the love that you deserve but at the worst time possible.

Especially when you have so much love inside you but no one to give. Its like love that doesn't have a place to go.

Because "he loves me but its like he wishes that I ache the way he ache so he could forgive me" is actually a form of love.

So yes, love equals trust issue. 

God.

See! even my blog post is about love.

And I fucking hate that word.

Love.

What is that even mean?

Love is a dark and vicious thing. It could destroy you in a second. It shows you your true self. But when you see that your true self isn't as kind, gentle and as good as you expected, its like love just spit on your face.

And sometimes, you just can't get the things you needed the most.

Because sometimes, I can't find the right words to explain myself.

And because when I finally do, it doesn't matter anymore.

My mind, body and heart are sore and choking at the strong wanting but never having.

And I wrote myself a love letter because no one can reach the deepest part of my darkest thoughts, except me and I think that's okay.

I'll keep myself warm before getting burn by your flame.

Whoever you are.