It’s 3:30AM. And I’m due to class five hours from now. I just finished two papers I was supposed to pass the other day but failed to since activities have piled up. But instead of diving straight to bed and sleep the five hours away, here I am, dwelling unto my emotions once again, risking half an hour of sleep for a blog post.
That’s what I hate about myself the most: dwelling unto my repressed emotions. There’s a reason why they’re repressed, I’ve told myself that a lot of times now. The fact that I was also the one who imposed the repression makes me more of a fool right now. Listening to this Avril Lavigne hit while pouring it all out, punching the keyboard in hopes of easing the burden, is really what it’s-3AM-and-I’m-still-awake moments mean. It’s like when day and night actually merge and the clock goes back to breaking it’s alarm, the percentage of emotional out-pours increase. Rapidly. Exponentially.
It’s a damn, cold night. Tryn’a figure out this life. I remember Reymer and this particular night we walked him home and under the bright moon of the past we held hands like actual lovers. And back then I was barely broken. I was happy – -oblivious of the crack that’s about to shatter me into sharp pieces. But for an eager heart, what are months of hurt to a single moment of feeling like a dream has been turned into reality. Me then and me right now are two persons, because perhaps I’d do everything to live in that moment of strolling under the moon with hands tangled like our hearts. But right now, to live in a moment where he is involved is agony I’d rather not have. But curiously enough, I remember him in Reymer. And I don’t know why.
Maybe because it’s the similar pain of rejection, of doubts and what-ifs. Only this time, it involves anonymity. It’s like he has his own world, I have mine. The difference lies exactly at the space between us. I’m clueless what it is. Perhaps it’s Rejection. Or Uncertainty. Or Inhibitions. Or perhaps it’s simply Nothing.
But the feeling of right now is very familiar that I’m haunted of the past. Something that had always make me wonder where I went wrong. Something that had broken me to the point of distortion: that I welcome sad songs like best friends and cry over feel-good songs because I actually think they’re very idealistic, too good to be true.