And yes, that is London I am talkin about. Who would have thought two years later, this London became such a havoc after all these riot going on. But we shall save that for another day.
I was heavy-hearted because I thought I had fell. It was a confusing time of my life. I was afraid because all my experiences of falling for someone had all eventually led to heart brokenness. I was scared history would repeat itself.
You see - I am a predictable pattern. Go near me, and I will get irritated. So irritated because I probably sense that you fancy me. I get so repellent towards almost all the guy who showed some interest. I can sense it - call it a female's intuition. Anyway, I recognised this trend in me so I feared. Oddly, I started finding this one getting close to me yet myself looking forward to the chats we had. The middle of night calls. Little did I realised, I was having premature ventricular ectopics. Flutter. Whatever. My cardiology sucks but still.....
I told myself. If this was mutual, this is it. No more playing games. Once and for all.
But on the other side, I was being realistic. Back to to my heavy hearted tale. I was heavy hearted to come to this great metropolitan city because I knew I had to face this for real. No running away and hide behind online chats. I knew disappointment would ensue. I knew it because I didn't have the looks nor personality. Stupid hormones. Whatever reasons my heart when into flutter rhythm and cardiomegaly (read: heavy hearted), life still had to go on.
I touched down Heathrow Airport 14 August 2009. The very next day, I faced my greatest nightmare. Haha. You can guess. I shan't even say. The day I dreaded the most. But I think I handled it alright. I came back walking along Garratt Lane with a conclusion - it will never happen. I was right over and over throughout my two years here since. I was emotionally muddled up for as long as I could remember. The amount of analysis that went through my head and personal journal could amount up to a thesis possibly justifiable for a PhD.
The years have gone by. I though hitting 25 this year meant I knew what I would do with my life. I still find myself allowing to believe with my defective heart (arrhythmia + cardiomegaly!) that maybe there was a flicker of hope, even though the brain clearly knew there was none. I allowed myself to live in a whirlwind turmoil for two years. Some say it was a result of a million mixed signals. I think it was all my own fault for allowing myself to behave and think the way I did.
Wise counsels left right centre tell me he hasn't got the slightest interest in me. Even a fool can tell that. How evident it is when we hang out in a group. I am always the one feeling left out. But then I justified - that's always the case anyway. Whether it is him. Or other people. Everytime I think of him, I died a little. I started dying the day we met. I knew I was doomed. There won't be any chance.
Only after two years of of my great prime years gone down the drain because I chose to think of him as dearly as family, I am left thinking.. this is not it. It will never be it. I needed a closure. I really needed it. I attempted. By sending a Christmas card to him on his birthday. I never got a reply until a month later.
I want to say my goodbye. I cannot always treat you like family because one day, you will have your own and I would be left alone. How could I even feel the slightest hop every time we talk yet at the very same moment you were thinking of f***ing her. And I could truly testify the give free but no one wants theory with you.
How many more hearts should be broken before I meet the one?
So true when they say we don't choose who we fall in love with. I wish I had chosen. But no, we don't choose. That makes matters so much more complicated.
I can choose to be bitter. But I want to thank you. Because. Because I would, if you do. And you didn't. So, thank you.
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