Tuesday, December 16, 2008

love for me...hrmmmm..

memories 17/12/2004 at tmn tun dr ismail
today if im still wif my ex,today is my aniversary on 9 years...but i was tinking,past is past..by gone be by gone YANA!!!wake up.....hrmm wat im want story dis bout him..He only wants me when I don't want him. Likewise, I only want him when he could care less about me. But really, he always cares. He just feigns disinterest and realistically pretends he doesn't give a shit. We've gotten so good at it, this little game we play; it's a sport we've been mastering for a decade. Sometimes I wonder if the game means more to me than he ever did. I've been competing so long that without the battle, I think I'd be lost. I long for his affection; I don't long to wrap myself in his love and feel its warmth pervade my lonely vacancies. I yearn for that, but not from him. But I want to know he lies awake at night, writhing, struggling, deeply feeling, all that he's missing; everything he's lost; how he'll never get it back. He'll never get me back. The day he chooses someone over me, my heart will break. Not out of jealousy and not because I'll wish it were me, but because I'm selfish. And perhaps, manipulative. Because I want him to want me, always. I'm the one who got away, the one he should have done everything he could to hold on to. The one he should have treated...right. We were young. We had our whole lives ahead of us. We weren't meant to be together, not then, not now. But years later, we ricochet between all or nothing. All equals misery. Nothing parallels emptiness. And the game is the undefined area in between. In the undefined, anything goes: hurt, disrespect, exploitation, compassion, lust, cruelty. I'm sick of playing in open-ended terrain. I'm tired of swinging through flames; my heart's tired of burning. Like a peacock who spreads his feathers, every love lost is another inscription on our silhouette of integrity. We may no longer love them, but they shape us nonetheless. We may no longer want to be with them, but learning they want to be with someone else stings. And so we move on. But we carry them with us always, their memories like crinkled photographs, in our back pockets. I don't love you anymore. But you love me. And that makes me feel powerful; it means I've surpassed you; beat you at our game. And that, I love.
mengapa harus cinta..............

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