Our Presupposition of Love

photo from: tumblr

For "Sunshine",

Thank you for trusting me enough

to write for you

And thank you for the 

writespiration

Our Presupposition of Love

 *presupposition: to be based on the idea that something is true or will happen

               : to require or depend on (something) in order to be true or exist*

Source: merriam-webster.com

*Disclaimer: ... swear words (although censored); the ff. are not from my experience(s) 

This is it. This is my defense, the remaining chunks of my explanation. Everything you will read below this will be about you, and about the unfortunate truth that is: we broke up.

The taste of my own medicine has a rather odd flavor, bittersweet with a punch of irony. Never did I imagine myself to be in the same situation as my then-brokenhearted friends: eating through a tub of ice cream and drowning in a pool of tears + alcohol. I thought I was quick enough to be able to anticipate the misery, smart enough to identify the stupidity of affection, and sensible enough to accept the reality of relationships. I thought love was an easy game. But I guess the cards we were dealt with were tampered.

Replaying our story in my head has become my pastime, our tale both my favorite and least-favorite collection of memories. A night would not be called a night without your name flashing in my head, a prayer with you in it, or simply your face being sketched within my brain. It is pathetic I know, how I look to you right now. After all your sweet talk and sugarcoated words I still doubt you ever lied.

I still imagine the way you would look at me, the manner of beholding me as if I were the best thing you have ever called yours. I still read the poems you wrote me, every line bringing me back to before. I still dream about you, although your ignoring me burns like hell. I still talk about you, even if your words still sting me when I know I am numb. I still I still I still I still.

I still stand here and stare at you.

I still gaze at “the boy who broke all his promises”. The one I managed to defy all odds for- my “best mistake”, biggest “t*ngina”.

It’s been months now, but I am still wrapped around your finger. Wanting you is my newly developed habit; I long to hold your hand again, crave for your loving arms again, hunger for your soft lips again. I cannot help but remember the way you made me feel before: you made me feel loved. Past tense, now, but still: loved.

I continue to go on with this, because of one salient thing: [see title]. I want to feed myself with the idea that you never jumped into our “mutual ardor” without ardor itself- that you never said “I love you” without meaning it. That it was not born out of pressure or impulse, that you wanted us to be more than friends just as much as I did. Why are you leaving me with so many questions unanswered? - Having me solve all of this by myself? Bakit hanggang ngayon masakit pa rin?

But I guess this is it. I am rummaging through our theories together- the “Why”, “Because”, etc. Our summer experiment is over, and we have now arrived at a conclusion. Our presupposition proved to be wrong, or at least my surmise. You stopped loving me. You grew tired. And at the end, pain won. So, thanks science (of love), you are just as sh*tty as my ex. 

-Aya