To Love, and Be Loved

Saturday. 1630 hrs

There was a time where there was only one shade of white, and one shade of black. Everything was simple, less complicated. I was young once. I know, all too cliched. And I thought it would last forever, or at least it seemed so.

As the years rolled past, circumstances changed, reality became a clearer picture, more than a pain in the ass. Not just a game you either win or lose. You bleed insidiously, refusing to allow others hear your cries of fear, of pain, to see your tears welling up. You learn to hate yourself, the hideous life you try desperately to insert importance, laughters. Yet, all is in vain. Death doesn't seem like such a bad idea after all.

You learn to transfer pain to others. Especially to those that mean much to you. They are obligated to, you think. Let them share my emotional burden, that's why they are here; they will understand.

Isolation, alienation, processes of being a grown-up. Of course, perhaps you are lucky. Very lucky. In love, having found someone to lean on. And he or she leans on you. Lucky you. Lucky she or he. But, at one point or another, it's back to square one. As if you have never had. So we console ourselves, humans are lonely animals, attention-craving suckers of emotion dependence. While the lonely-hearted combine to chorus, you are so lucky. To love, and be loved.

You are so lucky. To love, and be loved.

PS: Written with the library's silence, I've no idea what was I thinking.