Saturday, January 16, 2010

Being Juliet

Was there ever a line? If there was, I crossed it, long, long ago. I'm so far beyond that when I turn around to look at the point where I started I see only a speck of vanity, a trail of ignorance, but above all, I see innocence. I'm lax. But when it comes to you, I don't let go. I knew you. I know you. You seem so close. Close enough that when I breathe, your scent catches me off guard. I inhale and it's like a rush of that breeze I can't see, I can't control, but it still chills me, still makes its presence felt, in a way that it makes me stop and think even amidst the flurry of colorless chores, faceless faces and hands that touch but don't leave fingerprints. One of those days that I don't think about it, the breeze is even stronger in its intensity. You hit me hardest when I don't expect it. I've been walking in the desert for too long. So much so that when I spot that pool of water, I don't look left or right. I dive. You're beautiful. But only to me. Black, black, black, white. I zoom into you, as soon as I see you. No. Somehow, as soon as I sense you. It's not a war, I want them to know. I actually don't even care anymore. Because they'll think, think and think, but towards the end of it all, I'll still love you. And with so much pain that it's almost physically evident now. With so much intensity, with so much concentration that someday my love will be tangible. Something you/they wont be able to erase. In fact you'll have to think of ways to help each other shoulder the burden to just bloody get me, no not me, that one thing, out of the way. Romeo, you were always overrated weren't you? You may have been gorgeous, you may have been the ultimate, true love, you may have invoked the Juliet in Juliet, but you weren't good for her. You were parasitic. Who would've thought that life-giving love could kill? Brutally murder? You made it possible Romeo. You and your love that became an object, killed her. You and your other more vital, worldly things became the garland on her death bed. So what if you gave her something no other could have? So what if she'd wait for longer than eternity if only it meant a glimpse, a word, a touch, a kiss from you? So what if even on being given a choice she would choose a thousand deaths with you over another thousand lives without you? So what? What now? Paris. You are the easier choice. No let me not insult you. You're the more comfortable choice. You're patient. You're important. You're love with a whole new meaning. Sometimes I can't even tell the difference. There's nothing that's not right when I'm with you. But there is something wrong. You're not Romeo. You can't be him. And unfortunately for you, you can't even be my distraction. I love you too much to be unfair to you. So while Juliet could see Romeo, while she knew he existed, Paris must learn, must suffer. I'm so scared now that I hide my words behind Shakespeare's. He knew. It's not that I'm crazy. I'm a happy person. There's only an unhappy part of me, and it's growing restless. I miss non-conformity, but then again, how much do I know of it? This is probably the closest I've ever gotten. My eyes say a lot don't they. They always give me away. I don't want to involve, but someone, somewhere, has entirely different plans for me. What do I really want? That's immaterial. I could want to sleep on a cloud, I could want to hold a star, I could want to start over, I could want to just pause and feel what I'm feeling for as long as I'm feeling. I could want to stop breathing... That way, at least one sense of mine could be numbed toward all yours...

No comments:

Post a Comment