satisfied

She is a slut. She opened her body too easily. She sacrificed her mind too often. She could die, dear reader.

She could die if they let her.

She does not understand how love could be the scariest feeling, when all She ever did was give it freely to everything.

It is a curse to have so much love to share while people keep pointing a gun at her head from anywhere. There is so much to say, but her mind is too loud, she keep gasping the air to breathe upon the cloud.

When She was young, She thought fighting was love, followed by silence, followed by living in separate houses. She thought screaming was love. Continue by threats, Then walking away from each other was love.

She has witnessed too much for too long. She forgot how to love.

A man came, She welcome. A man left, She simply just rhyme. It has become a comfortable truth now, believing that maybe She will never let the love bow. Believing, maybe that has always been her lifetime vow.

But there is this man, and I must confess dear reader: he is soft, he is gentle, but he is quiet. He is royal, he is kind, he is intelligent, yet he remains a mystery, even to me, until today.

I don’t know the, bad, worse, and worst he ever did.

Whatever, dear reader.

She’s the craziest after all.

Of course She did worse. And She did worse.

Of course She did worse. Yes She did worse.

How much sorrow can i take my dear reader? There were moments when I hoped another sun would shine on them again.

She does not know where, how, or what to love with this enormous amount of love She carry every day.

He does not know where, how, or what to love with his small capacity for resilience.

His father died, and all She cared about was how tempting it felt to open the buttons on his shirt. Her family is pathetic, and all he cared about was baking a perfect brownie when all She needed was a love letter and company.

They met in the middle of that chaos. She was too burned, and he was too drenched. But somehow, they met, and they held hands.

People will never understand how he became the reason she kept living, and how she became the reason he finally learned to enjoying.

They both grew and raised differently, but they both dying. Pretending, and losing.

They both somehow need each other, my dear reader.

At the end of the day, maybe the meaning She looking for never truly relies on someone else, not on the screen, not from a good man praise, not even on nature breeze.

Not from me.

Maybe it has always been there, lying within them, deeper than a droplet dissolving into the sea.

They are too busy trying to be good that they forget flaws are born in every aspect of life, even in me, even in three of us, even in love,

or in you all my dear reader.

The future feels too far and too dazzling; it frightens her.

But today, He survived her storm and her blood, and She survived his empty room.

Tell me, my dear reader, I want to feel enough. I want to fly free and someday turn old and peacefully die become a beautiful corpse in a morgue after the pain. I want to look at them, smiling, whole, and sane.

Tell me how. Is it now? Is it today? Is it tomorrow? Or does it take forever to learn, to fall, and to love?

She keeps burning bridges with the help of his lighter, and He keeps drowning under the weight of her burdens. Yet somehow, even now, they are reborn and they laugh.

They learn. They fall. And They love again.

Maybe that is love after all.

It rebuilds by the trial, it connects not just awhile.

And maybe things they thought they did it right so long, my dear reader,

keep repeating it lesson and ready everday to just begin.