Irony of a False Love

Isn’t it stupid that we allow a person whom we barely know and whom we just met to destroy the fruits of our past and to dictate our future by investing all our emotions in the belief that he/she can provide the happiness that we would need to last our lifetime? Isn’t it amazing how society can make us believe that we can leave the very people who have molded us into who we are just for this certain “special someone”? Isn’t it ironic how almost everyone subject themselves to emotional anxiety and pains in search of what they call ‘LOVE’, when in fact, nobody can even provide a single (and universally accepted) definition of this word, when nobody can guarantee an end when the journey begins?

It only hurts when I’m awake. In my dreams you love me more. You let me hold you for as long as I want to and you never let go or back away from me. You let me kiss you in public no matter how passionate or sensual that kiss may be. You listen to everything I have to say even if they don’t mean jack sh*t about anything. You don’t say “I don’t care!” when I rant or rave about Sting or Beatles or whatnots. You feign laughter or smile when I crack old jokes that are so frigging aged, they even have wrinkles. You retort every time I make fun of you but not in the way that it gets too personal and you make me feel like useless protoplasm – protoplasm that you’ll splice up and use as compost. When we’re in private, you let me cuddle with you in the most uncomfortable positions and not move like a worm and squirm all about just because you don’t feel right about the way you’re sitting in bed. You make me laugh by saying the most insane things I never thought you’d say and not feel embarrassed about it. You let me hold your hand when we’re walking in the mall or sidewalk and you don’t let go because you have this obsessive-compulsion to scratch your face or fix your hair. You don’t have to wait for me to say “kiss me,” every time we’re talking and I just feel like having your lips planted on mine. You make love to me not just because you have to, but because you want to. You make love to me in a way that you don’t need to watch porn to know what to do but in way that you unleash the sensuality, passion and intimacy inside you that you don’t give a rats *ss if anybody hears you scream or mess up the bed or do the stuff you once thought were inappropriate that you now do because you know it feels good. You feel good for making love with me and look forward to doing it again. You make me kilig by whispering something in my ear that you’ll never ever say to your mom because she might send you to anti-premarital s*x seminars. When I say or text the most romantic words, you don’t think you’re just saying that ‘cuz you’re good at it but think of what I just said and know that I mean what I say and I say what I mean. You let me do the stuff you know I’m good at and not say that it’s just B.S. and it wouldn’t do me any good at all. You don’t say “eeww, corny!” when I sing Maging Sino Ka Man by Rey Valera and you know that every single line of the song is written in homage to what I feel about you. You make me feel good about myself by loving me in a way that you can never ever love anybody the way that you love me. In my dreams, you love me more and you love me that way not just because I’m dreaming, but because I’m in the state of reality. Then I wake up and feel the pain. Yeah, we can never be together. Never will. And it hurts me even more. We live in two different dimensions – no doubt about that. But do we have to love each other for two different reasons too? I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you. I love you not only for what you have made of yourself but for what you are making me. I love you for the part of me that you bring out, I love you for reaching out and touching my heart, and passing over the foolish, weak things that you can’t help simply seeing there, and for drawing out into the light all the beautiful belongings that no one else had looked quite far enough to find. Love is entrusting our faults to one another. I love you because I love you. Why do you love me?

Now, isn’t it ironic how one person can make us so miserable to the extent of doubting our sense of self-worth and feeling impotent, when there standing behind us are countless people who believes in us and values us so much in their life? Doesn’t it astonish us how we fail in a relationship and it suddenly destroys our pride, confidence and wisdom which we have carefully collected and owned from the people and events in our past… the foundations that made up the person we really were. Isn’t it unbelievable that we rely on one person to measure our importance through the number of phone calls, text messages, and e-mails that we receive containing all the romantic words enough to make us happy, when there are people whom we call family and friends who never fail to make us feel so important? Isn’t it ironic how we punish ourselves and we choose to stay in misery, when joy is just one step ahead of us, just because of a single mistake (of love) to which we also happen to be the victim?

We keep on setting criteria's about the person who we will love but the truth about setting these criteria’s make us just fall in love with the idea of love and not finding love itself. Ironic isn’t it?