*Freedom* posted a quote
April 23, 2017 12:34pm EDT
"lets be realistic," he said with a scoff.I was being realistic. Yes, my reality was to spend the rest of my life with you.Yes, my reality was to grasp your face and connect our lips in a white dress.Yes, my reality was to hold your hand as my fingers dug within your flesh as the doctors yelled for me to push.Yes, my reality was to help you wash your gray short hair and tease each other about our wrinkles.Yes, my reality was to stare at grandchildren as we reminisced about our lives.You were my reality, and I was being realistic."you're right," I mumbled in agreement, "i need to be realistic."I was being realistic.
When I first started climbing the tree of love, I knew better than to pick the fruit hanging lowest from the tree, the fruit that I didn't want because I am not desperate. But as I climbed further and further up, I began to find it more and more difficult to get what I wanted from the tree. My friends wanted me to pick perfectly good fruit that I never ended up picking because it didn't feel right. I was too unsure of whether the fruit was right for me even though the fruit clearly wanted me. I want to take risks, I want to get out of my comfort zone, but I am still too scared to pick fruit that isn't as round as I'd usually go for because I am not particularly impressed by it initially. Yet the fruit I was sure about, the fruit that gave me butterflies in my stomach, the fruit that I felt in my heart was right for me and what I truly wanted, I tried to pick it. But it wouldn't budge. Later on, I tried again with a different fruit that gave me the same feelings. The stem cracked from the branch but refused to detach from it. My heart was broken. It broke even more when I saw girls who wanted those same fruits that gave me butterflies and made my heart race pick them with ease. Hell, those fruits almost fell on their faces. More fruit started to call for me but I didn't pick them because none of them made me feel the way other fruit did. And that's when I asked myself, "Should I pick what I don't particularly care for much? Is it worth it? Is it worth not feeling butterflies for someone who treats you well and understands you but doesn't give you that "feeling" inside? Is continuing to climb this tree going to hurt me in the end? Will I die before I reach the top because I never picked a fruit? Do I even deserve fruit, am I too picky to pick fruit? Will I ever find a fruit I am sure about, fruit that gives me butterflies in my stomach, fruit that I feel in my heart is right for me and what I truly want that will fall off of the tree just for me?" I don't know the answer to any of this, but I am starting to think maybe the tree of love just wasn't meant for me to climb.
I was so mad today. I went to the backyard and teared up for a bit. It was so embarrassing. I didn't realise but I kept picking away at my skin, when I was done a small patch had turned blood red. I only realised when dad asked if I fells on rocks. I didn't notice I did that to myself, I was so distracted that I hurt myself. My knee is throbbing. It's so scary. Never again. This is a form of self sabotage I won't fall victim to and make a habit out of. I was on autopilot. I'm scared of myself atm. It's not a good feeling. My knee hurts and it was unconsciously intentional.
Sometimes, I think of the Moon and Sun as lovers who rarely meet. . . Always chase and almost always miss one another. But once in a while, they do catch up. . . and they kiss and the world stares in awe of their eclipse.