Date created :12/28/2012 00h45
Last modified : 01/03/2013 14h10
And I realized that I haven’t thought of you for a while.
But now that I did, it didn’t shake me.
It was more of the pavement beneath my feet breaking in one strong instant
as layers of ground and masses split like the red sea and the ground swallowed me whole.
But I’m not yet within the depths of this crack, falling deeper and deeper.
I am pretty much like how James Franco was in 127 hours.
Stuck, lodged painfully between protruding boulders, relatively mangled.
And the only way I could escape is if I cut my arm off.
Trying to get out of this is gruesome and bloody.
Nothing is ever easy when you miss somebody.
Nothing is ever beguiling when you miss somebody so much.
Nothing is ever beautiful when you miss somebody who doesn’t want to be missed.
Nothing will ever be.
But, in a weird twist of circumstance, it is perfect.
For it is the chip of your favorite cup, the crack on your favorite pavement, the broken branch of your favorite tree and the tattered cover of your favorite book.
It is in these things where we find perfection.
It is perfect because it attests to love.
Love is always perfect.
Sadly enough, it was you and I who tainted its perfection.
And why is that?
Because love didn’t want us.
But love loved every body and is there for every one.
But it wasn’t for us.
So, here I am, wondering if I should proceed to cut off my arm and set myself free,
challenging gravity as I make sure I don’t fall in the process.
I should and I admit that I miss you.
But admitting that does not instantly grant me the freedom from the yearning.
I still have to climb out of this crack.
Maimed and bloody and only about a 12% chance of survival.
And I am holding on to that percentage.
Who knew missing somebody could be so dangerous?