My Love Literature

Dear Diary,

There are many stories that I hold in my heart. I wish I could easily write it all down to you but I can’t. There are some things in our lives that are better left unsaid, unspoken and untold. I will probably carry the stories I hold in my heart to the grave perhaps, buried together with the mysteries that I have built while I breathed.

Time and again, the game of the hearts has taken over tearing every hopes and dreams. I wish I never would have to feel this way again but I am only human blessed with complete entities of emotions. This is perhaps what everybody must have felt once or twice in their lives. I have tried to leave these stories behind but they will always be in the background following me wherever I go.

The thing about memories is they are intangible and even the power of time cannot erase them from my lives. If I can write all of them down on a piece of paper, shred and burn them so they will not be in my background again, I would. I figure memory is a way of holding onto the things I love, the things I am, the things I never want to lose. People come and go in my lives. I make new friends and meet new people at every stage of my live. Good or bad, they will leave me someday or rather I will leave. At times, I wish I could have stayed but circumstances are too complex that I find myself confuse about situations more than I ever think I was.

And I whisper quietly to myself that I wish I had never have met her because meeting her only reopen the wound that once bled. Perhaps it is only I who should be ashamed for feeling that way. Nobody told me to let the feelings grow at an early stage. But I felt the connection with her even how mysterious she seemed to me. Someone whose charm has touched me at a personal level that I find myself easily submit to her demands. I think I have a heart of steel and metal walls around my heart that even superman cannot come through but I supposed I was wrong.

There is a part of me that yearn for her presence even if it was virtual. That yearn slowly turned into an obsession, I was fascinated by her presence. The more I talk to her the stronger I feel. I can feel my heart smiling. It is strange. I kept looking back at where it all started. I kept drawing the lines but in my head I cannot stop but to question and in my heart I cannot stop but to let it grow. Stop, I told myself. Someone will get hurt if I do not stop myself. Let it be me because I am already hurt and this is probably Karma playing its part again. My actions are my only true belongings. I cannot escape the consequences of my past actions. They are the ground upon which I stand.

Diary, love is killing me softly now. I expanded with the joy of her love and presence but now that she's gone I just feel bloated. I don’t know her face and we might as well be strangers so I will walk down the path thinking that every woman I saw and encountered could be her. A stranger that has known me and every opinion she has about me seemed to be true. She reads and absorbed, listen and understand, hear and feel. An observer who gives me the chill knocking on the door that leads to my heart. I have nothing but only fear, the lengthened shadow of ignorance. Fear of what I had been in my life love stories. All the broken hearts I have caused. They are all coming back to me now making me feel condemned and lost without aspiration and I am writing because every man’s memory is his literature.