The true value of a moment

Is felt when you revisit it through 

A visual representation

Or a written piece describing

that moment and 

Your body -or heart- recalls

all the strong emotions attached to it.

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I don’t think I understand love

the way I should.

I mean,

I understand the whole passionate feeling;

been there, done that,

but I’m mostly talking about

how love can get out of control,

out of your control;

doing reckless things unintentionally,

then realising how shameless you may look,

spilling words that leave you embarrassed and heated up,

hiding more important words,

words that need to be said, but you’re too conscious of the situation.

Okay, I guess I do understand the main concepts.

Concepts driven by the heart, solely.

But it’s been a long time since I’ve experienced that,

an experience that changed the way I see love,

changed the way I act when it comes to such feelings.

All because I’ve made a promise to myself;

I promised I’d never love again without consulting my brain,

that I’d never trust my heart because it can be easily deceived.

That if I suspected love has come for me again,

then I’d think hard if it was love for the person

or respect

or love for the idea of having someone there

or boredom.

And if it was love, then I’d confess.

If it’s not mutual, then accept friendship – assuming the other party still wants to be friends –

If it’s not mutual and they slip away, then so be it.

If they reconnect, then connect back.

Love has become a logical equation,

with remnants of intense hidden feelings of disappointment, relief, satisfaction, and ongoing attachment.

Silence is but a temporary escape.

I took the last chain of smokes for tonight

as I sat in the cold,

hoping the chilly night would freeze my heart,

freeze my emotions for a second,

but all it did was numb my hands and face.

I placed my ear plugs,

replaying the songs that best described my misery

at maximum volume,

silencing the sound of the wind,

the sound of passing cars

the thoughts that still rebelled against its host,

and the shriek that exploded from my trembling mouth.

The tears followed, but my face was already numb,

so I didn’t feel it running down like Niagara falls

Today’s cigarettes have already burnt my throat,

I couldn’t feel the cry that screeched itself out.

I only felt the aching tightness that blazed in my chest.

And between the first song and the next, a pause –

I heard it.

The suffocating sobs that I have tried to bolt inside this fragile self of mine.

I’m traumatised.

I hid under my coat,

waiting for the wind to blow me away.

Hearts; Windows.

People’s hearts are like windows.

You just need to look carefully.

Have they closed the windows completely?

Or have they left a small hole that they can peak from, hoping you’d make an effort and peak through it too?

Have they opened the shades, but closed the lights, making it difficult for you to see; a mystery?

Or have they opened the lights and are waiting for your next move?

Have they reached the next level where they’d open the windows for you, welcoming you and the wind and whatever comes along with you?

Are you looking closely?

Now

What is my window like?