A Broken Jar of Hearts

Today is your day.

Now is the time when you are at your lowest, and I watch you helplessly as you cried yourself to sleep. I listened as you poured your heart out, seeking comfort and reassurance. Lying by your side on the green mattress as we spoke nonsense into the depth of the night, I can only imagine the amount of pain you are going through.

Moscow is cold. Literally, and metaphorically. And I regretted that she welcomed you this way; bitterly and unforgiving.

Life is unfair, but I wondered why Fate has chosen now to end your four year long relationship. And I questioned why Time had chosen this moment for you to discover that he had another love within his heart. This moment when you are most fragile, when you are at your lowest.

At this point of time, I can only offer my shoulder for you to cry on.

Mother Russia, she’s not unkind and unforgiving. She’s a patriot of strength and will. She brought me up into this person I am.

She taught me the pain of loss, and helped me heal with the presence of God.

She whispered to me the meaning of friends and loyalty, because at the moment of my despair, I seek comfort from the hands that are linked with mine, bonded by the love of God. Until that moment, I never knew that there were so many hands supporting me from the back.

She told me to be independent, that there is nothing I cannot do on my own. Because she said that men are beasts, and that human are sinners.

So as I wiped your tears away, I told you what I thought was best.

I told you that giving up is the easiest and the least painful option.

But I also said that I think you should fight, because four years did not just pass by in a blink of an eye. If you really treasure those memories, then you should protect what is dear to your heart.

I told you, the pain of being let go without a fight, because that was what I have been through. I went through the despair of losing a battle without a fight. It’s true it hurt less, but despair is worse than pain. A wound can be healed, but despair leaves no wound, so there is nothing to heal. But you feel it all the same, deep down, nagging and biting at your conscience.

Hugging you tight at passport control, you thanked me over and over again. I feel no need for that.

Today, I feel your pain. Who knows in future, you would feel mine.

valentine virgin

The image on the mirror is not the same as the girl standing in front of it. In her eyes, it never will be. No matter how others view her, what others see, in her eyes are only reflections of the past.

Ghosts that haunt her memories. 

Taunts that invade her dreams. 

Memories that scar her heart.

Stepping away from the full length mirror, she grabbed her chain-sling bag, as she slipped on the 2.5 inch heels she so much adored. Dangling the car keys in one hand, she made her way towards the parking lot.

She parks into a parking space outside of Starbucks. Mornings start with coffee, a habit. A bad one at that. Ordering caffe latte; low-fat, to go was a routine she adhered to like a religion.

Walking towards the terrace, she felt herself shrink. People were starting to pour into the plaza, as morning slowly creeps away. She grasps the paper cup almost too tightly. And she feels her pace quicken.

She feels their eyes on her, scrutinizing.

She hears their whispers in amplified hertz.

She starts to shake, as she quickly broke into a steady pace of a jog. 

She feels them, so unforgiving and cold. 

She hears their mockery and sarcasm.

It was not the same people, it was not the present time, but she hears it all the same. The people from the past, the skeletons in the closet.

Slumping into the seat of her car, she found some comfort. Not even starting the ignition, she checked herself in the rear view mirror, tears already smudging the black eyeliners.

Instead of the gorgeous young lady with a long slender face and high cheekbones, it was still that pudgy faced girl from 7 years ago looking back at her. At she doesn’t think anything has changed.

It never will, unless she stops seeing the past, making room for the image of the present. Until that, nothing will change. Nothing.

memories are so unforgiving.
unforgivingly beautiful.
unforgivingly painful.

Can you hear me?

I dream of Lancelot and Guinevere,

Hope of an epic romance between Aragorn and Arwen,

Like the legendary love and sacrife of Romeo and Juliette,

But my love was not great,

It died halfway,

Tattered, wilted, shattered.

Unlike Lancelot, you did not fight for me. 

And unlike Juliette, I will not die for you.

Instead of lying in a bed of white roses,

I run across a field of paper flowers,

Screaming red butterflies,

...

To an echo of silence.

I left

And you let me go.

Leaving you granted me wings,

Like angels; that I feel that I can soar,

And as I flew freely higher,

The sun is unforgivingly dazzling,

Scorching, and burning

I wonder

Am I numbed from the pain by euphoria?

Or am I slowly withering?

I can't tell them apart

Because the view from up high is too great to give up.

And here I am again.