Blame

I never believed in fairytales.

I’ve always had this perspective of real world and true love just doesn’t make the cut. I believe they can never transpire at the same time.

All those undying infatuations, consuming my every unpleasantly cold nights, and eventually, collapsing unto the cosmos of love. Then having this unfathomable desire to have more of this apprehensive breathtaking sensation of abstract ecstasy culminating into a rebellious satisfaction.

As I am, feverishly tumbling down onto you, defying my preset perspectives, surrendering like an imbecile and obliterating my indomitable reputation, with the thought only of falling fast, nothing else. The peripheral vision is just too vague to mind. Nothing but love is substantial.

I got myself a seemingly harmless and risk-free fairytale love story.

It’s all good, until reality unraveled.

Oh! What a blissful trance! Just another indulgent dream!

Then I am constantly apprehended by disturbances that originate from the unknown, seized by those excruciating evenings with overwhelming sorrowful emotions, as well as baffled by the inscrutable secrecy that love possesses that somehow manage to decipher the heart’s fragility and as if intentionally humoring it with hurtful circumstances.

Hate to admit that my intuitions were right, telling myself, “I told me so! I was right.”

Things just don’t happen as you conceptualize them to be, there are always complications and barricades that seem to be purposely present, yet illuminating you that this is not “it”.

But "it" is this one thing that I do not regret: the chance of love that seldom does the cosmos favors.