No, I am not in love.
I’m just intoxicated by your kisses, addicted to your embrace, high on having your eyes on me, but no. I’m not in love. Even though people around me say I smile whenever I say your name or that my face lights up whenever I talk about you, I’m just not ready to admit it yet.
I will admit that I want you, long for you, always want to be with you. I admit that I start missing you five minutes after being away and that my mind is always filled with thoughts of you. I know that I wish you’d never be out of my sight, that we’d spend every day together, but does that already mean I’m in love? No. It doesn’t prove anything.
Will it really make a difference if I do or do not love you? Will it change anything for you? Do you even care?
I don’t even know what I am to you if I am anything at all. For all I know we’re just playing a game and the rules are yours to dictate; and the rules you have laid out say I lose if I fall in love. See, I don’t care much about losing so I won’t admit I’m in love. I don’t want to lose this game.
Stubborn pride, you say? Maybe it is. Maybe I’m just too proud to admit defeat or maybe I’m just trying to protect myself because losing a game like this can be very painful and can inflict a wound that may take forever to heal.
Someone just told me: if you’re not brave enough to take the risk with somebody, then you should be strong enough to be alone.
At this point, I can only say I’m gathering my strength. I just can’t say whether I’m using my strength to brave the risk or reserve it to survive loneliness.
The sunset had always had an effect on him, had always been such a dramatic scene for his dementia. It was his refuge, the only one he knew. Sunsets embodied the end, but it wasn't so for him. For him, it was the picture of a new beginning, of rebirth... like spring. The night would come, a time when the day starts to be reborn.
Yet, as he watched the sun slowly being engulfed by the mountains, he didn't feel like a day was being reborn. He felt alone. Instead of feeling bubbly over the sheer beauty of the natural set, he felt devoid, as though he was floating in dark oblivion.
Darkness started to imbibe him so slowly, cold wind slapping his cheeks, stinging him. Still, he remained unmoved, simply standing beside an aged pine tree. He wished it was raining, because he was starting to cry. He wanted nature to grieve with him. He wanted heaven to shed tears for and with him.
He was mournful, too badly. She had left him all alone.
It had been one long year since she abandoned him, for reasons that he could not take in. Ever since, he went to this side of the mountain, hoping that the sunset would give him the wisdom to move on. Always, he wished that the old pine tree beside him would administer him even a bit of courage to continue with his life, as the tree obviously had so much of life to taste.
In the days of that year, he tried to live his normal life, trying to pretend she never existed in his life. He tried all he could to forget, tried every way he knew just to omit her memories from his already nebulous sanity. However, he never succeeded. Not one day passed his in life that he didn't think of her; her lovely wholeness was tattooed on his mind.
She was his life, his love. The only one he ever loved.
He'd had too many women in his life, women of all kinds - flirts, sophisticates. He'd had them all, but they were all just playing, like him. He knew they were players, because he was one of them. Except this one... she had the power to make him fall in love with her, just because her love for him was all too real for him not to notice.
Then why did she go away? Why did she leave him alone?
Oh, he wasn't supposed to ask himself. He knew why. He just didn't want to admit it.
Raindrops started to fall; just what he was waiting for. He longed for the rage of the harsh winds that threw the raindrops into storm. He wished for a typhoon!
"Nice idea!" he murmured, talking to nobody in particular. Just the wind and the rain were his company. And he laughed a low hollow laugh that reverberated, echoed through the same hollow atmosphere. Anyone who heard would have shivered for it was a laugh a lot colder than the wind; the kind of laugh that sounded so very wicked, yet so very lonely. It was the laughter of solitaire.
The rain started to pour stronger, hitting him hard on the face with every drop. Every tiny globule of drenching rain was sting, painful on his skin. Yet none can ever be more painful than how he felt, because he felt like his heart was ripped out fresh from his chest, leaving him null and void inside. So very barren, blank... he couldn't handle the scorching, searing pain.
Strong winds blew harder, so strong yet he remained very still. The tall grasses around him swayed, dancing in blessed mirth. He watched as pine needles snapped out of their nodes thinking that it must be painful.
Yes, it was how he felt -- like his heart being snapped out from his arteries, and he whispered to himself a question: "Why did I never tell her I loved her..."
He howled, but not in physical pain. His shout would have deafened the whole world, deafened not their ears, but their hearts. He shouted, just before blankness ruled over.
She was there; he could see her. She must have followed him to the cliff. She must know; this place had always been memorable for both of them. They met here, how could they forget?
With easy grace, she slowly walked towards him, taking every step gingerly. She hadn't changed. She was still beautiful.
He waited for her to reach him, a smile creasing his lips. Blithe, that was how he felt, so heavenly. She returned to him, she came back. It took him every ounce of self-control not to jump for joy. He was just so overwhelmed with indescribable rapture.
As soon as she reached him, he took her in his arms. He could see the regret in her eyes, pleading to him to take her back. Her heart was in her hands, offering it back to him. And she took it with care although greedily. He took it back to make him whole again, took it with staggering joy that he hugged her so tight. One that never told her he'd never let her go. Never.
With a kiss, he told her of his love... for the first time. Although he knew she didn't need his words, he spoke it over and over...
Again and again...
Echoing...
He woke to the shadows of the still early morning; he was still alive, still breathing, still at the edge of the cliff, still alone. It had been a dream.
The storm had passed. Everything was silent. Sunrise was three hours away, he realized as he looked at his watch.
He got up from the hard grassy ground, barely noticing the aches of his body. For the first time, tears trickled down from his eyes to his cheeks. He looked pathetic, a man in pain. He didn't mind wiping his tears away, he knew they wouldn't stop flowing. He didn't bother about how dirty he was. He simply didn't care. He didn't even bother to stand, he just advanced kneeling...
Kneeling towards the edge...
Kneeling...
Slowly advancing...
Advancing...
Until he fell off the cliff...
Once and for all, to end his miserable life.
Sunset at last!
She left him alone though he didn't want her to go away. There was nothing else he could do. He wanted to be with her, his only love. For him, the taste of death was better than the taste of life without her. He could never imagine living without his only love...
So he followed her to the afterlife.
