Romeo and Juliet, the kind of story that we all are held captive of, a story of love. A story where we give all of what we have and who we are for the one that our heart beats for. And this, this is mine. Yes, my love story.
It all started with a text four years ago. A text that turned my world into something that is brighter than the lightest colors the eye could ever see, warm as the first rays of the morning light, hard as the walls of the deepest cave of an ever ending love, and an unexplainable happiness that a man could ever feel. Standing at an ideally perfect height for a woman with a stunningly even and perfectly engineered figure, I finally found the happiness that I’ve been seeking my whole life. A lips that I craved to kiss, the hands that I’ve been longing to hold on to, and the eyes that I wished to look into for which I believed to be found only in a dream, a phantasmagorical reality.
It has been four years of living in this boring and tiring college life, yet here I am, fascinated by the beauty of my happiness whenever I see her incomparable beauty from afar. Her subtle and fascinating beauty banishes the shades of my being. Her angelic voice flutters me as she calls my name. A mesmerizing phenomenon that a man like me has been wishing for about his lifetime. But if this may be a dream, I pray not to wake for the rest of my life.
As though I am highly mesmerized and have totally reached the seventh heaven about the things were, but things do not always favour us the way we hoped and wanted things to be. We had quarrels of course: words, that cuts like a knife, behaviors that do not fit the situations and things that are beyond the reach of our limits. I sought of things that would probably fix the problems and challenges that we have and about to face. I merely have found the solution but I find it hard to solve the puzzle un which the one that I am dealing with, is myself.
There were times where I bent my knees and wished it all to be over. It hurts. It sure did. It leaves a scar which I am trying to conceal. But I just can’t get out of my head. It was like a phobia: maybe I am exaggerating it but it really is an inexplicable and illogical fear if situation, a situation that looked exactly the same of what had happened in the stories.
But still it’s her who heals these scars of mine over time. It is still her who embraces, accepts and loves me for what I am. It maybe I, who lacks understanding. Who lacks everything. I didn’t mean to encompass everything around her. I have become a monster who wants her full attention, all of what there is and what she is to feed the monster whom I call.
Is loving such wonderful woman a sin? A phatasma? A delusion? Well if it is, then I am a sinner who committed the sin of loving, a dreamer who fantasized a woman of perfect imagery, and if it is a delusion, well then I am living the world where magic comes to life, a magic whom she is the only one who is compatible of doing so.
I hereby beg for her forgiveness, a mercy that only her lips is capable if uttering such word as her eyes shine brightly as she speaks. I ask of it as a keeper who negligently lacks alertness, as a missionary who have failed and as a lover who have sinned and had a lot of shortcomings, though I may not look like much and never felt quite enough, But I’m hers. Always has been.
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