In the midst of sweet surprises and fairy tale love stories coming true to other people, I realize that I’m envious. I’m envious and I want those to happen to me, too. I’m 24-years old, and while I know that’s still a very young age, I know in my heart that I’m ready for more. More than these hurried meets wrapped in every excuse that we can think of. You’d think by now I would have stopped this. I haven’t; but, now, maybe I should.
I want the candlelight dinners, a surprise fireworks show, the stupid baby-talks and pet names, the hugs that don’t necessarily mean anything other than the need to hug someone else. I want a hand to hold, a constant smile that will remind me how lucky I am to be alive. I want respect, I want peace of mind. I don’t want to be happy one moment and think that maybe, just maybe, this time around it’s my turn, then be put down by the things I see in the next sequence. I want someone I can run to just because I want to. I want to kiss someone in front of everyone without all the prejudice, without worrying if he’s okay with it. I want surprise cakes, surprise calls, surprise texts that says nothing and everything all at once. I want to fight with someone who knows what it is he’s fighting for: us. I want kisses that make me smile. I want faithfulness. I want someone who looks at me; only me. I want that sweet feeling of exclusivity, of calling someone yours and yours alone. I don’t want someone who has another person in mind but me. I want someone who will proudly tell me he’s mine, who would tell everyone who matters that I’m his. I want love, to be loved.
And if I still force myself onto a person who doesn’t love me, who likes another, who never respected me the way I want to be respected, then I can’t have all of those. It’s tiring to wait for someone to change his mind and realize that maybe he ought to give that stupid girl, who’s been waiting for him forever, a chance. It’s tiring to see someone you love put effort and get hurt over someone else, when you’ve been doing the exact same thing for him all these years. It’s tiring to understand a person who never understood you and what you really need. It’s tiring to write these stupid realizations that never really become actions because I’m too scared to let a person go. I’m tired of asking myself what I should do, because deep inside I know I’ve done enough. I’m tired of telling myself to move on, and then come back the next minute. I’m tired of telling myself that I’ll be happier if I just get on without you because I don’t do it anyway. I’m tired of asking myself when I’ll be happy because I know that how is the better question. I’m tired of getting hurt over and over and over again because this stupid bravery–stubbornness, really–keeps telling me that I can still hold on to this one-sided affair. I’m tired of holding on to this friendship when in reality, I don’t think you give a shit about it anyway. I’m tired of hearing how you don’t need anyone, how you don’t need love, because I know that you do; you’re independent, but you’re the person who I know badly needs someone to understand you the most. I’m tired of always trying to make you realize that I do, I understand you, because you always make fun of me and my understanding, anyway.
I’m just scared because I know that the happiness I want is more possible without you. It’ll be easier to move on and forget you, then be happy; than to wait and wait and pray that you’ll give me a chance. I’m scared, because just as I’m writing this, I miss you already.
I’m scared, but I think I can do it. It’s just going to be hard at the start, but I can do it, right? I’ll just have to close my eyes and walk away, right? Because if I open them and I take in the environment without you, I’ll end up running back, and this post, this resolve, will be for naught.