Summer beckons.

It's approaching rather rapidly,

And i'm praying indifference and apathy will overwhelm me.

It's approaching rather rapidly,
And i'm hoping there would be no such encounter.

It's approaching  rather rapidly,
And i'm pleading myself to not backpedal to the way things were.

Yea dude, how on earth could you do that?

source

The dearth of what truly matters.

Honestly, I don't like when people say oh she has it all yada yada yada. Like when I look at you, i'd rather have what you have. I'm ashamed at how i'm attached to what's worldly. I'm taking steps to feel closer and closer but I don't feel anything within. I want to not feel out of place when it comes to that :(

When I do think about it.

Its as ephemeral as a brief downpour that passes through at a quarter to 11 pm,
It comes unexpectedly and it goes without notice,
but most importantly,
it holds no significance,
(which is favorable to me).

Mathematical melancholy.

At the mention of your name,

I couldn't discern the rapid beating in my chest,
Then I thought to myself;
All those shades of pink that colored my cheeks,
those palpitations,
those brief laughs at your dry jokes (which makes you, you my friend),
those sentences and glances we shared that I ended up overly replaying and analyzing, desperately trying to dissect their meanings;
They make such fleeting presence now; if not none at all,
They're piddling.

At the beginning of spring last year,
I was overwhelmed with anticipation.
Come early fall,
I was recovering from the juvenile and venomous game of mixed signals we unfortunately played.

At the beginning of spring this year,
I came to notice how settled you were. 
"Kudos for you," I thought.
It took me awhile to realize I had no negative remarks for you,
A first; since the whole thing went sour.

I asked myself "is this what moving on feels like? Is this what ceasing to look back feels like?"
Because it feels good. It's pure liberation.

I'm no longer that girl who spent the whole of last winter licking her wounds only to find them re-open during summer,
I'm no longer that girl who yearns for time to rewind to the days with you, as minute as they were,
Not anymore.

Letting go took longer than I thought, but I'm glad I finally got to it. Alhamdullilah.

As for you, in my life you'd always stamp your mark as my first love.

Always; as indifferent as we are to each other now.

I always thought first loves are beautiful, and the fact that my heart honored you with such a position was more than I could I ask for.

No one before made me want to let my walls come down willingly; you did.
No one before made me want to take a leap of faith despite the uncertain consequences that were going to transpire; you did.

No one before managed to evoke such rawness in the way I felt; you did.

No one before made me feel like I was drifting in such a strong current yet I loved every second of it, desperately wanting it to drown me into the deep end; you did.

No one.

You made me acknowledge how it felt to fall  and feel strongly for another. So, thank you.

"Once you start moving on, He eases the pain in your heart."

-Yasmin Mogahed.

The ruin I've made.

"Love blurs your vision, but after it recedes you can see more clearly than ever. It's like a tide going out, revealing whatever's been thrown away and sunk: broken bottles, old gloves, rusting pop cans, nibbled fish bodies, bones. This is the kind of thing you see if you sit in the darkness with open eyes, not knowing the future. The ruin you've made."

-Cat's Eye by Margaret Atwood.

A severe case of wanderlust.

Live match wanderlust that is. I think it's been a year plus since I last went to a live game. Ever since the whole pre-season tour buzz broke out, I just want to quench this thirst of going to the stadium and sit there for 90 minutes while periodically doing fist pumps after goals are scored or mentally cussing some player for his missed pass. 

I often envy those season ticket holders. To do mexican waves and hold part of the mosaic and have my confetti get stuck in my hair (which i'd probably take out and then place it in my purse because i'm a memory hoarder level: 989378931). To walk towards the entrance of the stadium, tummy in knots and goosebumps spreading on my warms. To hear it erupt and roar when goals are scored. Whatever feeling that a live match could render.. Gosh, I want. So. Bad. Right. Now.

P.S: I know I shouldn't be feeling overly stoke about pre-season but man I can't help it (which is probably a bad thing because I know what happens when I get my hopes up). I really hope it takes place and I'm desperately hoping that I'll find my way there with zero glitches.

.

It was as if the rain was obliging to the solemn news I received from the other end. It was hard to shake off such a thing. It came out and clouded my mind, relentless. At that moment, whatever degree that connected us didn't matter.

I tried to stifle it but every bit of hasty desperation trying to hush my thoughts were no more than a mere floundered attempt. I couldn't care less about how monomers are hydrolyzed or what happens to the molecule structure of glyceride once is dehydrated. I was solely fixated on the news I got.

I can never fully grasp things like that, even though I've had a similar account happen to me.

I can never find the words, or rather find the courage to provide solace. Because i'd be a first-class hypocrite if I said "stay strong".

I can never see the end to grieving but I can assure you that you'll see the silver lining that'll come out of it.

Al-fatihah.