Believed?

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The first time you told me you loved me, I didn’t even know what that meant. For me, it was safety and cuddles and someone who’d get me chocolates when I scraped my knees and give me their toys when I got tired of mine. I was the girl dancing, with big eyes and stars within; And, I believed you.

Fast forward a few years on, too fast we discover death together. We grow up, we lose our best friend. The world is an abstract of emotions, fleeting. So much so, that the only thing that seems familiar, seems safe, is you. You tell me you love me, even through my hysterics and sedatives, even as scared as you were yourself. Barely a boy; But, I believed you.
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The year you left, I remember staring up at the night sky, a budding teenager desperately searching for answers beyond her age. Even then, I remember hearing your voice through the haze surrounding me. Even then I remember the conviction of the thought that you were out battling demons and that you were one who’d come back at least. Barely a memory; Still, I believed you.

 

I hadn’t cried for two days even amidst all the others mourning. You didn’t have to do anything, just sit by my side to let me lower my walls, to let me break down. You were shaking even as you tried to grip me, as if you could physically pull all the pieces together. You were silent even as you saw me suddenly smile and smooth my face over no matter how disapproving the look on your own face. Your eyes told me stories of galaxies of refuge, of strength and reluctant pride. Barely a feeling; Though, I believed you.

 

When I first read The Notebook, you were Noah for me. I should have realized then that we were doomed. When you told me you loved me, I laughed. You told me again, and I started thinking ‘maybe’. Come eighth time and slowly, I let myself love you. Let myself listen to you. Let myself acknowledge what you could be to me. Barely a thought; However, I believed you.

 

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They thought we were too perfect for such young an age.
Nice now meant giving too much, a noose around your neck. Forever sort of love sounded like you were suffocating.
Your friends wanted you to be there on the other side smoking pot instead of entertaining the wide eyed girl with her irrational love for ice cream.
Your breath now stank of iridescent lies and dangerous highs.

 

The last time you told me you loved me; I stopped believing in love.

Challenges

Not because I’m scared of losing, but…

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No, I do not like challenges.

He took me as a challenge you see. He put chinks in my armour that weren’t their before, he scaled the walls around further than anyone had. He didn’t like losing; So, he gave it his all to win.

They always forget though; That every little part conquered comes with its own responsibility. You can’t take over something and then move on to the next quest without looking back, because while you might be moving ahead, the parts that are now your domain wilt in your negligence, in your ignorance of them.

I don’t want to give anyone that power. I want to hold on to the bandage I’ve so carefully applied to all the chinks, how I’ve filled the walls, how I’ve watered the parts to the point that they don’t need to depend on someone’s attention to flower again.

I don’t like challenges.

Not because I’m scared of losing; But, because I’m absolutely terrified of winning too.

No Going Back.

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Loss changes you. It might not be a change as visible as a splash of colour on a black and white painting but its definitely as if there is a slight shift in everything around us. As if the molecules disassemble and rearrange themselves, changing everything even as life moves on the same way like before, leaving us stranded on the shore.

You can pretend all you like, but the person looking back at you in the mirror is no longer whole and the empty place echoing within you does nothing to hide it.

You never really recover from some things. They call it heartbreak, because that’s exactly what happens. Your heart breaks and you’re never whole again and you can live or mask the scars with laughter and happiness but it sneaks up on you; The absolute cruelty of it all, the woes of your depraved soul desperate to find itself again and its all you can do to take a deep breath and smile.

Loss does one of two things to those it leaves behind – It meshes us together, forcing us to let go of every feeling we know to form some semblance of an existence again, or it tears open the wound, making us slowly bleed out, widening the divide so much that we’d do whatever it takes to try and pretend that shit’s not real. We know better though. Its a nightmare you cannot escape, no matter how much you scream and beg to be let out off. You’ll always be the person holding your war stories close, proud of your scars even as you lock them away within the confines of your heart. Always, at the precipice of insanity and even you go back to life, you know, in reality, there is no going back.