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...she laid back on her bed, thoughts racing in her head, why can't my love be beautiful, she said. And she closed her eyes again, just praying he'd return, ...but only darkness ...fell upon her. ~Wolfgang

Le 01/04/08 01:03, « mariale ohya » a écrit :

I know not for which fate is worse: to have not opened my heart at all or to have loved and lost someone as I did. There is one thing I know though. Loving him was a sweet misery. I loved him as I love life itself, but I was certain that I would never be in his arms for he longs to hold another. I have resigned to the fact that I shall be with him only in my dreams.

He once came into my loneliness and stirred the passion in my heart from its disturbed slumber. He was the beautiful sun, which rose for me on that beautiful morning of a new day of my life. His existence was enough reason for me to be born and entrusted to this void we call our world. I was hurt, maybe I still am. I thought I would never fall in love again. I was scared and lost my trust in love because it brought me nothing but despair. I knew that the glory of that morning would not last. For it must give way to night time, when the beautiful sun, which had heralded the coming of a new day, would become my pitiless tormentor. My affection for him then was my own passion.

He was my cruel tyrant.

It is now my desire to be strong, to never allow my heart to be broken again. Silly how he came barging in and while I refuse to open, I detrimentally failed to shut the door. Well perhaps loving him was like writing poetry: creating a thing of beauty, a heart's song, yet a song I was afraid to sing, for my ballad might be mocked and my love rejected. Nonetheless, life itself is short and passing. No matter what happened, I have learned not to let my song to the grave. I can only be nothing but hopeful.

Maybe my love for him will someday fade with the setting of the sun. But until such time when I will no longer be a slave of my own passion, I shall continue to master the art of letting go. There can be nothing more apt than this.

Le 09/04/08 06:56, « mariale ohya » a écrit :

I cannot find the right words to explain how I kept myself sane over the past years of being just by myself, of being alone on Friday nights. My sanity lies in the realization that neither myself nor my destiny can ever control the truth about having a relationship.

I was born alone, why would I kill myself just to have someone in my bed?

Gloria Steinem said: "A woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle." Just like a fish, I could still swim the deep waters; without even learning how to walk, even ride bikes. Yes, I have survived years without the comforts of a partner because I am a woman.

Sadness could devour me like a forest fire, but my mind keeps telling me that I can be happy, that I can be normal; even though my hormones are now going haywire. Sometimes, I would just scream at the top of my lungs to release the pressures of being alone. And then, I would just come back to my senses and realize that in my solitude I found the person who would always be there for me... myself.

Looking past the mirror in front of me, I see what is beyond the lines forming under my eyes, with brows slowly shaping into an arch of non-conformity. I see the nakedness of my femininity reaching its value. I do not see curves, rather it is the simplicity of being who I am that suppresses the madness.

Insanity... I have no clue what that means anymore.