Jan 2018
Her brown eyes and long lashes makes the scene perfect as she blankly stare the air, it's as if she's staring the eyes of her lover.
But her lover wasn't there. She is just staring a blank dead air. She then throw her gaze at me and a tear had fallen.
I sit in front of her.
"How are you?", I asked. Her mouth is shut so she prefers to answer me with another tear.
She must be really terribly broken. Being brokenhearted is not new to her. She already had bad experiences in love but, this pretty worst.
I noticed her new haircut and new hair color. I noticed how she carelessly put her blush on and lipstick. I noticed the thick books she brought with her, desperate in putting herself in the world of thoughts of the authors. I noticed how she terribly dressed herself. I noticed her cheekbones and her swollen eyes.
She looks so terrible but a new one-a new version of herself. But her silence and her mourning brown eyes say it all-that she is not new, just a terrible version of herself.
Maybe she had come to think that if she doesn't look like the girl who fall in love with him, maybe she wouldn't feel the same way like that girl.
But she's wrong. Her state right now is a realization that she can't change her heart nor can fool it. She can't easily erase her feelings for him nor can forget it. So she will still end up-the girl who hopelessly fall in love with her lover.
I can never escaped a hundred of bullets of pain, a 175000 lbs-rocket ship of tears, a 3-tank of long nights and a hydrogen bomb of memories, I said to myself in the mirror.
So Iām gonna let them hit me one at a time and, at all cost, I will savor each ache and bruise. In this way, I will heal.
Because this is the beauty of pain and this is how I define love.
But her lover wasn't there. She is just staring a blank dead air. She then throw her gaze at me and a tear had fallen.
I sit in front of her.
"How are you?", I asked. Her mouth is shut so she prefers to answer me with another tear.
She must be really terribly broken. Being brokenhearted is not new to her. She already had bad experiences in love but, this pretty worst.
I noticed her new haircut and new hair color. I noticed how she carelessly put her blush on and lipstick. I noticed the thick books she brought with her, desperate in putting herself in the world of thoughts of the authors. I noticed how she terribly dressed herself. I noticed her cheekbones and her swollen eyes.
She looks so terrible but a new one-a new version of herself. But her silence and her mourning brown eyes say it all-that she is not new, just a terrible version of herself.
Maybe she had come to think that if she doesn't look like the girl who fall in love with him, maybe she wouldn't feel the same way like that girl.
But she's wrong. Her state right now is a realization that she can't change her heart nor can fool it. She can't easily erase her feelings for him nor can forget it. So she will still end up-the girl who hopelessly fall in love with her lover.
I can never escaped a hundred of bullets of pain, a 175000 lbs-rocket ship of tears, a 3-tank of long nights and a hydrogen bomb of memories, I said to myself in the mirror.
So Iām gonna let them hit me one at a time and, at all cost, I will savor each ache and bruise. In this way, I will heal.
Because this is the beauty of pain and this is how I define love.
Moving on is too hard especially if we hold back to the memories we once had. We hold hopes and we continue to act foolishly for love. We hurt ourselves more than our lovers can do to us. But cheers to everyone who feel the same way like me, because this is how we processed our moving on stage, this is how we heal. This is how we step out on that stage and this is how we renew our heart. And if it is over, we are really over!
