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Oct. 31st, 2005
[Note: There, Xavier-san, I've changed it now. :)]
No matter how I journey, I will never arrive.
Such an eternity awaits me.
Unable to unmask your trembled lies,
The morning comes.
-Other Side of the Moon (Weiß Kreuz)
Someone told me that love is beautiful, is tangible, and so real. It's pure and innocent and is bereft of tears.
Hah. That person's lucky. Love isn't always like that. Love isn't always fluffy bunnies and roses and chocolates and happy endings and happy beginnings and even happy in-betweens.
So he keeps breaking my heart. Over and over again he breaks my heart mercilessly, shattering it into countless pieces that I keep needing to pick up and put together again. And the downward spiral continues: girl loves boy, boy abuses girl, girl's heart is broken, guy needs help, girl picks up the pieces and helps guy and on and on and on.
It doesn't matter. It's uncontrollable, inevitable, and I'm stuck in this cycle of misery. Shut up, shut up, I don't want to hear your petty words of encouragement, or of hope. "Make him understand," you say, but that's not possible when the one you want to kill keeps on driving that rusty knife deeper within you with a grin on his face. "Tell him to stop," you say, but even as he breaks your heart he makes it flutter again with his reckless grin.
He's told me time and time again that he can never care for me. He's harboring his own feelings for someone else, someone I can never aspire to be even if I spend a thousand lifetimes trying. He's throwing his life away just for something that isn't tangible, and I'm there, he says, to back him up. He's wrong. I'm throwing away my life, my own life, to help him achieve happiness that won't have me in the picture with him.
And I can't do anything about it.
Why can't I, you ask. I seem to have deconstructed everything about our relationship, why not walk away from it all and start over?
It's simple.
I can't control my heart, kiddo.
Even in the darkness I see him there before me, grinning wapishily at me from his seat. Even in my prayers his is the face that first pops up in my mind, my family and friends forgotten immediately. Even if I damn his name to hell I'll end up crying on the floor, promising never again to do so.
In all my dreams, he is there, mocking me. Yet even if he abuses me in my dreams it would be worse if he wasn't there.
Where's the love, you ask. Surely this isn't love. Love is happy, you say.
Love isn't always a fairytale with a happy ending, kiddo. There are the tales that aren't told, the ones where the prince gets lost trying to find the enchanted castle, the prince gets killed by the evil witch, or when the princess commits suicide because the prince wasn't really a prince but a sadistic rapist. Love stories aren't always the ones where people ride off into the sunset, you know. Obsession, unrequited love, death; they're all encompassed in that definition.
So get out, you say. Forget him, leave him, tell him that you don't want to see him anymore, help him with his web of larcenies and lies.
It's not that simple.
I've never known who I am. I've seen so many different perceptions people have of me and they're all so wrong and stupid. In the end, when I look in the mirror, I keep on hitting it with my fist, and as the glass splinters and falls I look steadily at the blood trickling out of my knuckles without wincing.
Yet he saw through me, and that is his power over me. He knows what I am, what I'm capable of, and even if I'll have to lose everything I have and am, I'll do it for him because...
Damn. I love him.
You're a martyr, Raine, you'd say. (Though you'd probably call me by my other name, the name he fancies calling me by.) But you could tell someone who he is, you'd say, and he'd save you, right?
How can you save someone from the darkness without being swallowed up by it yourself?
No. I won't let anyone else be lured by him into his web of lies. Especially since I'm the one who spun them painstakingly, using my hair and blood as thread and dye.
Even in knowing this, that I am heading into oblivion, I continue my life like this. I can't help anything but just keeping him happy, seeing him happy from afar. Never mind if he takes what made me myself and smashes it into a million pieces.
He saved my life back then. Doesn't that mean he has the right to do whatever he wants with it?
Even if I end up losing what's left of it because of him?
I can't hate him, I can't. He's still everything to me, and everything in the world is righted with just one of his smiles. Even if he drives me to cut myself on the shattered glass he crashed over my head I won't hate him, even as the life-blood, dark red blood trickles down my arm. Never you mind the years of my life quietly fluttering away like little black butterflies into the starless sky.
Because even in my dreams he comes... and I can't open my eyes anymore.
No matter how I journey, I will never arrive.
Such an eternity awaits me.
Unable to unmask your trembled lies,
The morning comes.
-Other Side of the Moon (Weiß Kreuz)
Someone told me that love is beautiful, is tangible, and so real. It's pure and innocent and is bereft of tears.
Hah. That person's lucky. Love isn't always like that. Love isn't always fluffy bunnies and roses and chocolates and happy endings and happy beginnings and even happy in-betweens.
So he keeps breaking my heart. Over and over again he breaks my heart mercilessly, shattering it into countless pieces that I keep needing to pick up and put together again. And the downward spiral continues: girl loves boy, boy abuses girl, girl's heart is broken, guy needs help, girl picks up the pieces and helps guy and on and on and on.
It doesn't matter. It's uncontrollable, inevitable, and I'm stuck in this cycle of misery. Shut up, shut up, I don't want to hear your petty words of encouragement, or of hope. "Make him understand," you say, but that's not possible when the one you want to kill keeps on driving that rusty knife deeper within you with a grin on his face. "Tell him to stop," you say, but even as he breaks your heart he makes it flutter again with his reckless grin.
He's told me time and time again that he can never care for me. He's harboring his own feelings for someone else, someone I can never aspire to be even if I spend a thousand lifetimes trying. He's throwing his life away just for something that isn't tangible, and I'm there, he says, to back him up. He's wrong. I'm throwing away my life, my own life, to help him achieve happiness that won't have me in the picture with him.
And I can't do anything about it.
Why can't I, you ask. I seem to have deconstructed everything about our relationship, why not walk away from it all and start over?
It's simple.
I can't control my heart, kiddo.
Even in the darkness I see him there before me, grinning wapishily at me from his seat. Even in my prayers his is the face that first pops up in my mind, my family and friends forgotten immediately. Even if I damn his name to hell I'll end up crying on the floor, promising never again to do so.
In all my dreams, he is there, mocking me. Yet even if he abuses me in my dreams it would be worse if he wasn't there.
Where's the love, you ask. Surely this isn't love. Love is happy, you say.
Love isn't always a fairytale with a happy ending, kiddo. There are the tales that aren't told, the ones where the prince gets lost trying to find the enchanted castle, the prince gets killed by the evil witch, or when the princess commits suicide because the prince wasn't really a prince but a sadistic rapist. Love stories aren't always the ones where people ride off into the sunset, you know. Obsession, unrequited love, death; they're all encompassed in that definition.
So get out, you say. Forget him, leave him, tell him that you don't want to see him anymore, help him with his web of larcenies and lies.
It's not that simple.
I've never known who I am. I've seen so many different perceptions people have of me and they're all so wrong and stupid. In the end, when I look in the mirror, I keep on hitting it with my fist, and as the glass splinters and falls I look steadily at the blood trickling out of my knuckles without wincing.
Yet he saw through me, and that is his power over me. He knows what I am, what I'm capable of, and even if I'll have to lose everything I have and am, I'll do it for him because...
Damn. I love him.
You're a martyr, Raine, you'd say. (Though you'd probably call me by my other name, the name he fancies calling me by.) But you could tell someone who he is, you'd say, and he'd save you, right?
How can you save someone from the darkness without being swallowed up by it yourself?
No. I won't let anyone else be lured by him into his web of lies. Especially since I'm the one who spun them painstakingly, using my hair and blood as thread and dye.
Even in knowing this, that I am heading into oblivion, I continue my life like this. I can't help anything but just keeping him happy, seeing him happy from afar. Never mind if he takes what made me myself and smashes it into a million pieces.
He saved my life back then. Doesn't that mean he has the right to do whatever he wants with it?
Even if I end up losing what's left of it because of him?
I can't hate him, I can't. He's still everything to me, and everything in the world is righted with just one of his smiles. Even if he drives me to cut myself on the shattered glass he crashed over my head I won't hate him, even as the life-blood, dark red blood trickles down my arm. Never you mind the years of my life quietly fluttering away like little black butterflies into the starless sky.
Because even in my dreams he comes... and I can't open my eyes anymore.