My old place

February 02, 2014

Location: on the bus ride home.
Mood: with tears streaming down my face.

8:51pm: I know I'm gonna be back there again.

Location: the chess table at my void deck.
Mood: with a void in my heart.

9:16pm: Hi, it's me again. I'm back here. I remember I used to come here whenever I'm feeling upset; be it with my ex-boyfriends, with school, with my friends, or whatsoever. This became my place of comfort. At one point, I was here weeping daily. But slowly, life got a little better for me and I stopped visiting this place. It's been, I guess, a little more than a year since I last sat here. Tonight I'm here again. I'm already used to the curious stares of those passer-bys. I know what they are thinking; they must be wondering why is this girl sobbing her heart out in the middle of the night. Is that what's on your mind too?

How do I say this? I have too many thoughts going in my mind all at once. So how do I put this into words? I should be speaking to the person involved instead right? Why am I penning down my thoughts here? These are questions I asked myself daily. But I know the answer to this - to avoid an argument.

I never liked arguments. Wait, I don't think anyone likes them any more than I do. But I hate arguments. I hate them with every ounce of energy in my body. I do everything I can to avoid them, which is why I never brought up my unhappiness. Excuses or reasons, I knew what would happen so long as I break my silence. I thought that by giving you more space and time, you could see what's happening.

Maybe you forgot. Maybe you never saw the significance in the things you did. Maybe we see things from different perspective. But you should have never given me false hopes from the start. I know you didn't promise me anything, but you gave me a wrong outlook. I was aware of the situation from the beginning, but I thought things would stay the way it was before. Maybe it wouldn't stay forever, but I never expected this to happen so quickly.

Here's an analogy to paint you a clearer picture. I'm not good at kite flying and neither are you. But it really simple - you're like a kite and I'm the one flying the kite. If I hold on too tightly, you won't fly. Instead, you want the string to be cut off so that you can soar higher on your own. But on the other hand, if I hold on too loosely, you'll fly away. I don't want to take a wrong step and let my kite go unintentionally. Have you ever flew a kite? I did, once. The more I tugged at the kite, the higher it flew.

You see, there are so many things I could do with or without you, but there's nothing I love more than to do them with you. I know you don't see things the same way. You belong in the sky where you can be free as a bird. But just because I stopped tugging doesn't mean I stopped caring or stopped expecting. I simply stopped showing, stopped pushing to get my way. I don't want my kite to be too far away from me but I'm still waiting. And once in a while, I can't help tugging my kite, giving my luck a chance, waiting for a positive reaction, wondering if the wind will ever stop blowing in our direction so that you could come back to me willingly.

You know that feeling of looking forward to something so much only to get disappointed in the end? Maybe that's why my father warned me time and again when I was young that expectations can kill, that expectations will only lead to disappointments. I can tell you that's the cruelest feeling in the world. To have your hopes built up high, to anticipate something so much you can't sleep at night, to tell your friends all about it. And then to watch it fall apart; watch your plans fall apart, watch things that weren't supposed to happen happen. In the end, I always choose to let loose of my grip so that my kite could rise.

10:44pm: Hours passed without me realising. By now, I've ran out of words to say, and tears to cry. I look up from my tears-stained glasses and I know it's time I leave. Goodbye, old place. Thanks for the company. Much as I hope to never come back again, I know I'll need to someday.

Location: home.
Mood: downcast, melancholy, down in the dumps.

11:13pm: We had it going great for a moment; you were everything I ever wanted. I wish I knew what have I done wrong. How did things change so quickly? How did I lose your interest? I wish to speak to you but I don't know where to begin, I don't know how to phrase my words so that we won't have another argument. I don't know how to make myself see things from your point of view and vice-versa. You're right - I'm not matured enough.

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