(Roman Holiday, 1953)
A year later, I’m still stuck. A year later, I’m still here staring at all of you passing me by, as if all the efforts I have been putting together have melted into vain attempts. But I could never shoulder the pain on any of you, I could never do that. You never owed me anything in the first place, and neither should have I. But you know me. You know thrusting my own self, enslaving my own emotions to the pitfalls of infatuation, just to throw out a line that I’m still around, and if you don’t mind hanging out, maybe you’d see that I was worth the wait too.
Ironically, this had done nothing to dampen my spirits because now, the whole world knows who you all are. The whole world knows how much pain and euphoria you’ve instilled in me, stains I can never remove. You leave me as I leave you. I try so many times to pull away, frantically even, just so I can claim that for once, I could live and breathe without you constantly beating me at the back with your misleading dialogue and heart-shaped lies. I know the chase may be a thrill for some, but it’s a torture for me to wait and wait for someone to yell TAG in my ear.
Am I always going to end up stuck in the same pit the whole time? Always giving love as loosely as words and never getting anything in return? To give and give until the wound deepens and no one to rush to my aid? These are questions I do not wish for you to answer, but these are rhetorics to ease the pain I’m slowly getting used to, and I wish for something unpredictable, that’s all.
Maybe, hopefully, this is the year where I’m going to see the magic happen. It’s absurd enough to blame and entrust destiny to work its way with me, but love goes beyond reason, I guess, and I have returned to some of you at least more than once, so maybe I cling on because one of you is somehow right after all?