NOW LISTENING TO: Placebo - - My Sweet Prince

Never thought you'd make me perspire.
Never thought I'd do you the same.
Never thought I'd fill with desire.
Never thought I'd feel so ashamed.
Last night, I had a dream.

In it, I was unclothed in bed, my hair unbound. I don't know why, but there was a distinct sense of regret in the air; I was watching JB sleep next to me, equally unclothed. It was rather obvious what we had been doing. The air was rank with desire, sweat, and... shame. Despite the fact that at least in my dream, I knew that he was the one. That he was the only one who could break my heart over and over again, the only one that I'd let my heart broken by. I felt defiled, worthless, and an utter failure.

I woke up crying.

A lot of things I hold dear to me because I can't take things for granted; I'm not saying that I'm the most unfortunate person in the world, but there had been so many things that I had to go through that others did not. Moving around the world (literally), parents' instability, my mother's car accident debilitating her, my own mental problem... everything I have right now I had to fight and beg for.

Some have managed to breeze through life. Not many nights where you cried yourself to sleep without even knowing; not many mornings where you woke up with tears on your face. Z once told me that he had his heart broken; but I always wonder if he knows the true meaning of getting your heart broken, that dark desperation that this is all a bad dream. Whether it is someone you love or something you had spent your life on, having that taken away from you can't be described with any word. I remember every sense becoming duller, as if someone had suddenly taken a vibrant photograph and marred it by dulling the colours; life seemed to move slower, especially when I wanted it to move faster so I could flee the numbness. It was no longer pain; it was just numb. No tears would do justice to the pain. It was so life-altering that I still drag the remains of the incident behind me to this day, and I think I will for a very long time in the future. Each love is a battlefield, and the winner and the loser both emerge with scars.

JB is one of the very few people who is sensitive enough, delicate enough, yet strong enough to go into battle. He had his heart broken just as I had mine; he had felt rejected by something he had spent his life on, time and time again, felt desolate and hopeless, yet he always stands up and walks back into the foray of battle again, knowing that whether he is victorious or not he will be bleeding even worse than before.

Each love is the same, in a way. Love is not peace but war, and both parties come out so hurt and so battered that it makes one wonder why some people go back into battle time and time again, bodies covered in wounds, blood spilled onto fresh earth. It is so easy not to go back, to let go; yet some keep fighting, knowing that when they finally die no one will recite their heroics. We wear the crown of thorns and bear our own crosses, knowing that it is possible for us to throw off the cross, take off the thorn and flee; yet we walk through our own Jerusalems, our backs raw and bleeding. Each step gets worse than the one before, and the sun sheds its harsh rays cruelly. And in the end we end up on the hill of Golgotha, waiting for our judgment that is always so cruel.

I sometimes envy those who have easy lives. But on the other hand because I bear this cross every tree I see is more vibrant, every fruit I taste is sweeter than ever. Despite all the wounds I bear, now that I look back I would not trade my life for an easier one. Because each hardship prepares me for the next one. And in the end, even if I do end up on Golgotha, I will know that I have lived my life to the utter fullest, my body full of scars but also filled with memories of every intense pleasure.

I dedicate this post to all those who know what it is to feel that intense helplessness of being rejected by that being you love so much - and those who keep plodding on, despite carrying a cross, back raw with a crown of thorn on the head. For we cannot help but be whatever we are. And we had chosen our path and can only live that way.