There’s just something about love that
doesn’t click with me anymore. It’s impossible to put into words. One word. One
thought. One feeling. It can’t be
covered. It can’t be explained. I tend to breathe through it, ignore it and
tell myself that I don’t need it. I buy myself flowers and I dine myself out to
treat myself extraordinary well. I don’t need romance to feel love because I love myself just fine without a man.
If anyone were to tell me that I’ve not
tried to jump into conclusion; I wouldn’t argue with the statement because
there’s no reason to argue over someone who has never fell so crazily in love.
I’ve tried… and it nearly killed me. I felt it once and it was possibly
everything I thought it was going to be: all the dreams, all the butterflies, all
the flatters; but it was with the wrong people.
The problem with falling in love with the
wrong person is that it does, what feels like, irreparable damage to the heart.
I wasn’t the type of girls who goes crazy over flowers and romance but I do
hold that fairytale dream of getting dressed up, holding the arm of a gentleman
who smiles with a pride at the thought of getting to spend time with me. I was
a realist all my life even though I was a big fan of Fairytale movies; I never
expect my chair to be pulled out or my car door to be opened. I never expect
myself to be treated specially.
Fast forward towards the days, someone
came along who believed that I was special yet my heart no longer opens. He
tries to text me in the morning simply to wish me a good day but Good Morning
texts usually end up in the late evening after all the routine works. He would
send flowers to my office and I would have to explain that “it’s nothing
serious”. And in the end, I would become so panicked by this person’s affection
that I’d grow irritated. How could someone just walk into my life and
throw his feelings at me and expect me to just want it?
I didn’t. I don’t want any of it. It was
easier when it was just me. Long have I lived in the days of post-romance.
Companionship and perfect relationship has long been removed from my dream and
life. I am the girl who picked herself up off the floor when her world is
breaking apart. I am the girl who looked herself in the mirror telling herself
no guy should be worthy of your love anymore. I am the girl who has built
walls; high and strong, unbreakable too.
I am also the girl who told myself that
no man will ever make me as happy as I could make myself. I’ve enjoyed years of
doing what I want, when I want. I have stayed up late or slept all day, all the
leisure of just me, myself and I. I
have laid on my couch for hours watching movies that I rewatched a thousand
times without anyone judging. But that decisive year I spent as a single woman
turned into two, then three… then five. Eventually, it became an excuse of
fear.
I’d taken my scars, put on my mask and
unknowingly turned into my own monster. My wounds had healed, but that was
about it.