Hey, it’s me again, your mailbox must be full by now. The mail company thinks we’re in love but little do they know my letters are my epistles of pain. It’s been months since we went to ashes, burnt by the fire we started. At first,we were warned of our combustibility, but we boasted that when gasoline meets fire, the furnace remains unburnt. Now, I’m not so sure.
We were right for each other until the wrong turn left us broken. On the plus side, who knew whisky was such a good companion? The combination of alcohol and cannabis is therapeutic heaven for those with first-degree heart burns.
The birds still sing our songs, the winds still blow our melodies yet, it’s never felt the same
I have searched for all we had and less on the lips of others, underneath the skirts of others, in the arms of others only to find that it never existed. It never felt the same.
Intoxication has allowed me the clarity of thought and euphoria has made me see clearly, that love is a flawed scheme; an elaborate disguise, a cowardice concept that hypocritically goes against everything it ever preached. It’s all fake! The torrents of energy that comes from seeing the one that lights up the flames inside you is all a lie; the greatest make-believe to ever exist!
What’s worse is the accumulation of productive time wasted on making sure the smile you see in them broadens with each passing day. Didn’t you think that one day, the smile will exceed its elastic limit and you’ll end up with someone whose mouth has no filter for what goes in or out? They’ll promise to always be by your side but when there’s a sniff of calamity, they’d vanish into thin air claiming ‘always and forever’ is a myth only realisable by those truly immortal. What irks me the most is how we dress up in a fanciful hula-hoop we call wedding and spew tons of rubbish and end up with “till death do us part”. But whose death? Mine? Yours? Or the thing that allegedly binds us together?
If love truly conquers all, how come there is always a conflict between what I love and our love? Why can’t I love football as much as I do you? Why does my PlayStation need to get packed up whenever you come around? Isn’t love accommodating enough to give room for us and the million other things there is to life?
There’s an even more comical side to all this — somewhere right now are two teenagers sending countless “me too” texts and heart emojis to each other while planning to sit under the symphony of the stars and say vows under the moonlight all in the name of being hopeless romantics. The words themselves condemn one to hopelessness. You take away the Rome and all you’re left with is antics as it truly is…antics of a great deception!
If you made it this far, I really do hope you realize that these are the scribblings of a drunk man. When my intoxication wears out and my booze clears, I’ll go back to scheming ways to regain your heart.
We all can change the world with our pen