(no subject)
It has been proven, time and again, that I am a masochist.
I still believe in Silverchair's words: "I love the pain, a breeding ground for hate". However, could I ever bring myself to hate when all I want to feel is love?
Things haven't changed much. I still get ambushed by my own curiosity and stupidity. Only this time, I am left to nurse my wounds in silence, like having an open heart surgery without anesthesia and you're all alone with the surgeon who acts like everything's going like it should be so he expects you to play your part.
Does Cupid's line have any truth to it?
Earlier, I thought I have already lost my capacity to feel. The turn of events has just made me believe otherwise. I can still feel, and right now, I cry for a Propofol drip.
How did you manage to do this? How did you withstand years and years of pain because of me without uttering a single word? How did you suffer in silence? How did you melt you own blocks of ice trying to crack mine?
I know. You have the heart. I don't. Now I can clearly see how strong you really are. You always chose to love. You always chose to look at the bright side, hoping each apology would be the last, that things will look up.
As I crumble once more, I look back and search for clues on how to deal with this.
You always chose to trust, no matter how unworthy I was. I always kept you in the dark yet somehow you always manage to shed light on what I was really up to, leaving you "high and dry", and as I dish out my usual litany of apologies, you dish out your usual litany of love.
Now I'm considering coming up with my own litany of love.
I'm sorry, I really don't have anyone to turn to for guidance right now aside from the lessons I got from you.
I still believe in Silverchair's words: "I love the pain, a breeding ground for hate". However, could I ever bring myself to hate when all I want to feel is love?
Things haven't changed much. I still get ambushed by my own curiosity and stupidity. Only this time, I am left to nurse my wounds in silence, like having an open heart surgery without anesthesia and you're all alone with the surgeon who acts like everything's going like it should be so he expects you to play your part.
Does Cupid's line have any truth to it?
Earlier, I thought I have already lost my capacity to feel. The turn of events has just made me believe otherwise. I can still feel, and right now, I cry for a Propofol drip.
How did you manage to do this? How did you withstand years and years of pain because of me without uttering a single word? How did you suffer in silence? How did you melt you own blocks of ice trying to crack mine?
I know. You have the heart. I don't. Now I can clearly see how strong you really are. You always chose to love. You always chose to look at the bright side, hoping each apology would be the last, that things will look up.
As I crumble once more, I look back and search for clues on how to deal with this.
You always chose to trust, no matter how unworthy I was. I always kept you in the dark yet somehow you always manage to shed light on what I was really up to, leaving you "high and dry", and as I dish out my usual litany of apologies, you dish out your usual litany of love.
Now I'm considering coming up with my own litany of love.
I'm sorry, I really don't have anyone to turn to for guidance right now aside from the lessons I got from you.