If time is the only instrument to measure everything, if there's an unknown dimension it brings, then we're still living out our known history despite this current point of consciousness. Just that we no longer feel what we used to feel. And we no longer see what we used to see.
I read that love is a verb and it involves conscious effort from two parties so that it could live. I read that what will bring two strangers together is a perfect marriage of mutual physical, emotional and mental attraction. Love will then develop between the two as time proves. Time will measure the depth of feelings. It will take into consideration the number of breaths you two share, the number of times you fall asleep in each other's arms and all the laughter and tears. Love will find its way if the three aspects of attraction come together.
The writer was wrong.
When time travel in a linear fashion, love doesn't. It implodes within one then engulfs two. For Carl and I, it never imploded within him at all even when the three aspects of attraction were perfectly in place. After this whole time of trying and the number of breaths and secrets we share, I was greeted by a strange yet familiar sense of loneliness. I am now, once again, without him. I'm back to where I began initially before I met him. If we take Benjamin into count, I had Benjamin before I met Carl. And I had to leave Benjamin because 'we' were killing us both.
And before Benjamin there was Mairah. And before Mairah there was Simon. And before Simon, there was Andy. And before Andy, there was Desmond. Going way back, I realized an honest piece of truth about myself. That is, I haven't been alone since the age of 18. 13 years in the making and I found myself sniggering at my dependency for a presence in my life. Whether having someone in my life makes me feel wanted and validate my need to feel it, or whether having someone in my life helps bring excitement into what I regard as conundrum, it all doesn't matter. It just means I need someone in my life to feel alive. Which is pretty shitty if you ask me.
You need to love yourself in order to love someone else. If this is true, then maybe Carl doesn't love himself.
I cannot remember when was the last time my heart aches this way. Probably when Bennett and I parted ways. If Bennett was my first true love, then Carl is the second. I guess.
"How about Carl & You 2016," asked A.
"It will not happen. We're off. He doesn't love me, remember?" I responded with clearly audible shattering noise of my heart and soul.
Carl was my best friend, my partner in crime and we share the same jokes. He clearly doesn't think much of this but I think a great deal of this. I know, that it's near impossible to find someone who shares the same sense of humour. I just know this. But he's more into the new chick he met and probably he could adapt to whatever sense of humour she has and make it theirs. He's adaptive, he's a Libra.
With tears in my eyes as I write, I can literally hear the sound of silence engulfing me with no mercy. Like a blanket, it wraps me up in the coldest fashion I've ever known and chill me down to bones. For once in my heart, there is no joy, rapture or conviviality. The dancer in me broke her legs. The singer in me got throat cancer. And the funambulist fell off the tightrope finally. Therefore, it brought out the poet and writer in me. If you've been following me for years, you would have known this about me, that I happen to have the most tragically beautiful poems and an endless stream of words whenever I'm down at the bottom.
Fate always likes to throw me to the bottom of the dried up well. And with compliments without fail, she will always throw in a notebook and a pencil. That's how she starves me for all she ever wanted was my words of sorrow. That's how she gets her satisfaction.
I wonder what of me I will find
if I just try to,
all in the absence of you.
