I choose to struggle with me. Somehow I do not work as a whole. What the heart desires collides too often with what the brain decides. I keep pushing for the cold, hard facts. Making myself believe that what I assume to know is what everybody else will do.
I choose to believe what hurt mind and broken soul decided in collaboration. Together they piece a cynic view, a rationalist thought about everything and everyone I see.
I choose the believe that you are smiling at me because you want something. That your subtle touch means not that you like me, but that I owe you something. I expect no-thing and hence I shall not be disappointed. But then again, I won’t be able to handle some-thing.
Therefore I choose to hate being in love. Being victim to all the feelings and ridicule thoughts and falsely planted hope. Not being able to sleep because my mind had to cross-reference all of your signs and run possible what-ifs while my heart got itself high on memories. And takes off on a butterfly.
(Something scribbled down around 6 years ago)