I'm selfish, impatient, and insecure. I make mistakes. I am out of control, and at times hard to handle, but if you can't handle me at my worst, then you don't deserve me at my best. (1926 - 1962)
Oil and water. Two substances that cannot be mixed. And the worst part is that even though they are inevitably separated with each other, those two substances remain enclosed into one vessel. No matter how big it is and how clear they can be distinguished, they're still lying on the same ground.
It's like being in a room, bumping onto each other, looking at each other's eyes but there are no words coming out between us. It seems like we've been treating each other more than a stranger; or is it just the walls that we've built between us? That I can't tell.
Have you noticed that you have been my biggest and my most unforgettable distraction? Did it even cross your mind? But one thing that I'm sure is that you never even thought about me or even contemplate on the stupid things that you've said that I actually believed in.
Words. They're not even tangible, but how come I felt like it pierced right into my chest? The wound got even deeper when I realized that I was the fool, seasoned with shame, loneliness and the need to revenge.
How come I could still see your face and all of a sudden reminisce those memories? Why do people always remember the things that hurt them the most? It keeps on penetrating my healing condition.