To The Boy Who Loves Quietly

Your love is not a bouquet of roses adorned with Ferrero Rocher chocolates. It’s not Saturday date nights, a table reserved for two at a fancy restaurant. It’s not a grand public display of affection. It’s not for everybody to see. It’s not for everyone to know. But it’s mine to keep.

Your kind of love is quiet. It’s a simple message in the morning, and one in the night, and sometimes an ‘I’m thinking of you’ in the middle of a busy day. It’s the endless talks of nothing and everything. It’s the same shared sense of humour, from the small chuckles to the loud belly laughs. It’s the talk that lasts until morning yet feels like minutes. It’s when you let me ramble on and on about my day with you looking at me and listening to me like I’m the most interesting person on earth. It’s the talks of the future which normally scares me, but with you it feels only natural to. It’s when you reminding me to take care of myself but me hearing it as an honest I love you.

Your love crept up on me unwittingly that I just woke up one day and found myself looking at you with brand new eyes. You never forced that love on me. As we talked and spent time together, you were planting that love like a flower seed and everyday, you watered it with care and allowed it to bloom in the right time. You waited until I could feel that flower blooming inside my heart, forcing me to recognize it as what it was. It may have taken some time, it may have been slow, but it was the kind of love that is anything but selfish. And I’d choose it everyday.

Your love is something people would feel whenever they see me with you. It’s something they wouldn’t always see, but something they would always know. It’s something they wouldn’t notice at first, but would eventually realize in each of the subtle ways we show each other that love: the unconscious holding of hands, the long understanding stares, whispers of I love you, our inside jokes, the way we say each other’s name. It may seem like it’s not but it’s always there.

It’s not a lightning bolt that struck me out of my consciousness. It’s not my heart beating fast, as if it would come right out of my chest. It’s not when I see you, I am left breathless. Instead it’s like this: when I’m with you I feel relaxed, safe, and cared for. And most especially, I am sure.

You see, I’m almost never sure of anything but when it comes to you, I don’t have a single doubt in my mind that what we have can last.

It will last…at least for as long as it shall.

Unsent Letter: 03

You asked me if I'm tired. I asked you what kind of tired. You said, "Of me." I told you no, I'm not. But this is what I didn't tell you:

I am not tired of you. But I am tired of constantly feeling like I can't reach you. I am tired of constantly battling for your attention. I am tired of trying to come up different ways and topics, of convincing you that you can tell me absolutely anything, just so we can have an actual conversation, and not just mindless, pointless ones. Like actually talk to me damn it! Talk to me about your feelings, your emotions, your life! Let me get to know you better.

I am tired of always putting in the effort, of always the one asking, of always the one waiting. I am tired of always the one feeling like I'm never enough. I am tired of always trying to guess what you're feeling, of what is in your mind, because you don't tell me anything unless I ask. And sometimes even when I do, you still avoid giving me an answer.

I am tired of feeling like I am the one who should do everything. I am tired of always the one appreciating. I am tired of being not the priority. I am tired of the mediocrity.

So yes, I am tired. And I am trying so hard to hold on because I don't want to get tired of loving you.

Unsent Letter: 02

I understand that I am not the first in your priorities. It stings, yes, but believe me, I understand completely. But please understand too that it will maybe take me a long time to accept that. No, don't blame yourself. There's no one to blame about my feelings, not even me. I know I shouldn't apologize about what I feel but I'll say sorry anyway.

I don't want to feel bad about being a second or third or fourth choice. I don't want to feel hurt about not being your top priority. But I do. I hurt. And the pain only grows everyday; I can't seem to stop it.

Maybe because all my life I've always stepped aside and put other people's interest over mine; inevitably shrinking myself behind the top choices. When I was a kid, I wanted so many things. But I didn't ask them from my parents because in my young mind, I am aware that they don't have the means to give them to me. So I kept quiet because I knew there were  important things that we need more than my own interests,

I've always been giving away too much; my time, my presence, my support, my patience. No one sees it maybe, but I've been constantly putting other people's feelings before mine. And although I have my share of selfishness, there weren't worth the memory. They weren't that lavish. I've always been simple.

My point is, maybe the reason why it hurts not being your top priority is because I've waited for someone like you for so long. Someone who will see pass my flaws, someone who will put me first for once, above everything else. And then I found you, and you love me as much as I do you. But the glitch is that I'm never going to be your first priority. And it sucks big time. It sucks because I shouldn't feel jealous but I am jealous. And I am mad, not at you, not at her, and not at myself either, but at fate. At destiny. Even sometimes, at God.

Why? Why do I always end up second? Why can't I be the first for once?

I am sorry I am doing this to you. I don't mean to put you in a spot where you feel like you're forced to choose. I am not making you choose. There is no choice. I just want you to understand me, and to tell you what I truly feel because you never ask. And I don't want that there will come a time where all of these will explode in the wrong way.

So I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

Unsent Letter: 01

It sickens me to read them all. My stomach drops with each letter I read.
I feel insecure. I feel like my heart is being ripped apart with every love you had shown her; with every similar words you have said to her, that you're saying to me too. And yet I continue scrolling down. I keep reading your posts to each other. I keep looking at photographs I wish doesn't exist because it makes everything real; because no matter how much I want to deny them, they serve as your memories. But I continue looking anyway, knowing full well that what I'm doing only gives me a self-inflicting pain. I never knew I'd become a masochist.

I wish I could delete them all. I wish I could delete her. But I can't go back to the past and undo everything. If I could, given the things that i know now, I'd  redo so many things. I'd never let you go that first moment we met. But I am no superwoman. I can't do that. So now, I am left with no other choice but to try and ignore these unwarranted insecurities I feel.

Still, I can't deny the fact that it's killing me. It's killing me how I absolutely know that I'm never going to be able to compete with what you two had. She gave you many firsts that you may again experience with me but I know it won't feel as amazing as what you felt with her. And the thought that you may be happy with me now but still it can't compete with the happiness you felt before makes me very sad. Almost depressed.

I won't be able to fill the hole she left in your heart...or will I? But...am I just that then? A filler? Someone you need to fill in that emptiness. Or am I greater than the love you felt for her?

What am I to you? What's my role? Who am I supposed to be when I'm with you? Because no matter how much I don't want to feel this, I feel like a replacement, and it sucks so much. So. fucking. much.

What It Feels Like To Be Jealous of Your Ex

Knowing that she had you first is filling me up with a crazy sense of insecurity that I’ve never felt before, and I don’t know what to do about it. I’m so jealous of your past. I wanted to be the one who gave you those sweet memories, but you knew her first. What was I supposed to do?

I don’t know her. You don’t talk about her either, save for that one time. But you didn’t say anything that much, only that she cheated on you so you two broke up. But the bitterness I heard in your voice didn’t escape me and it only added to the nagging mystery that’s already surrounding this girl you fell first.

Who is she? What was she like? What was it about her that you fell hard for? What was it about her that had captivated you so? Why was she different from any other girls? I want to ask these questions. I want you to tell me what made you decide then that you wanted to build a family with her considering you have a child together. I want to ask you these so that I will know where I’ll place myself. So that I’ll know what separates me from her. So that at least my mind can stop giving me these questions and for my heart to stop beating with bitterness and self-doubt.

Because I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve to feel any of this. I don’t even know her. She doesn’t have a clue of who I am. But I still couldn’t stop myself from feeling so insecure. I cannot stop myself from comparing us. I cannot stop from constantly wondering why you chose me after her.

I don’t question your love for me. I can feel that it’s true; otherwise I wouldn’t have given you a chance. However, I can’t help but question the weight of that love. I know, I am aware, that she and I are two different people and that I shouldn’t even start comparing. The only thing we have in common is you. But you can’t blame me. You two had a perfect life together. She loved you. She bore your child. What if one day she realizes that she wants you back? That she wants your family to be complete again? You cannot make me stop from worrying about that because that’s a possibility.

I’m usually a wise person. I don’t worry so much. I don’t overthink about things I have no control over. So why am I being like this? Is this how it feels like to be jealous of your ex? This is ridiculous. And yet…it’s here.

I hate this irrational fear of losing you over to someone you once had. This isn’t me. This. Is. Not. Me. But this is me right now. What am I doing to myself? What are you doing to me? Why am I so jealous when you’re not even giving me something to be jealous about? I am crazy. I’m losing my mind.

This is just the kind of thing love does to people. And I hate how I can’t seem to hate love in all of its flaws.

Why Love Scares Me

Love scares me because it’s real.

It scares me because I know it’s full of pain, hurt and sacrifices, and yet everyone wants to have it. I see it in my friends when they get heartbroken and cry over a guy. How devastating they feel, the agony of break ups, and the process of moving on and letting go. It scares me because even after all the pain they felt, they still choose to love and then the cycle starts all over again. It’s as if they haven’t learned their lessons.

It scares me because I learn my lessons from their experiences and it leaves on a stigma every time. I don’t understand the concept of loving without hurting. Can’t you just love and be happy without all these terrible consequences coming your way? Is self-love not enough?

I’m scared of heights so I’m scared of falling, and as from what I’ve seen, loving someone requires just that and I don’t think I can do that. I don’t know if I’m capable of baring my soul to someone. I don’t know if I can be someone’s idea of love either because I run away from things that I don’t understand. Because, why give myself confusion that could turn my life in shambles when I can just sit back and do something I want that could give me peace and calmness?

Love is such a huge complex thing. It’s not the kind of love I feel for my dog. It’s not the kind of love I feel for my books. It’s not the kind of love I feel for my family or friends. They are the closest people to me and they still don’t know me like I know myself and that alone makes me doubt that I’d meet someone who will.

Love…it’s something more, and that more scares the living daylights out of me because I don’t know what that is; because that more is what makes someone stay by your side even when you’re being difficult. That more is what makes someone choose your complicatedness over something hassle-free and simple. It’s what makes you deserving of love. And whatever that is, I don’t think I have it.

And these are the reasons why I think that love is scary.

             

           

Don’t let go. I have so many issues and insecurities but I promise I am trying my best to fight them off, and with you holding my hand I’m a lot stronger.

Don’t let go even if I push you away. Especially if I push you away. Because that’s when I’m most vulnerable and broken that I want everyone to leave me so they can’t see how damaged I am.

Don’t let go even if I say I hate you. I don’t. You’re holding my hand. You’re helping me. Why would I hate you? That’s just me saying I need you. That’s me saying hold me closer.

So please be patient with me. I know I’m being selfish. I know I don’t deserve you. I know you’re too good for me. I would let you go if you want. I won’t stop you. But you have me as long as you want me and I’d take what I can get.

I need you, even just to breathe. I don’t know if that’s healthy but it is for me. I need you because no one else had held my hand like you do. I need you because with you I’m better. I need you because you are my light.

I just…I love you and if that’s wrong then I don’t want to be right.