It is a story of a broken heart.
Or is it?
Some souls are just born to be different. In their own twisted, tortured way, they are likeable, even lovable.
The problem is, the world they are born in, remains the same.
“He is handsome, very smart and has a very stable personality”.
“Maybe, but I don’t love him.”
“You will learn to. You know he is the right one.”
“Oh well. The heart wants what the heart wants”, I remember replying.
Love. It surprises you. It does. Sanity is no gadget to measure it. People are used to setting patterns I believe. Anything out of the ordinary startles them. Things that do not make sense to them in their set idea of what ‘sense’ maybe, makes them fear it or, the least, they feel uncomfortable around it.
Everyone tries to tell me what is the ‘right’ way to go. I thought they would get tired of it by now, but I guess they aren’t. Some say you can control your feelings, but they don’t know that my anatomy betrays me in that regard.
I have your ‘crumbled’ lies in my hand tonight. Your exhaled smoke lingers around me as I sit across an empty chair. The fizz from your unfinished Coke bottle is gone. Outside the window, the New York skyline is filled with glittering skyscrapers. Life is going along in its set patterns. I don’t know how it feels when your own decisions mock you. I knew it all along that this wasn’t the right choice.
I hate that word, ‘Right’.
“Choices should be choices, not right or wrong”, my heart protests.
If my brain were a wise old man, he would shake his head in dismay over this.
But… The heart wants what the heart wants.
Maybe I like breaking the patterns come what may.
Maybe I love failures.
In my own twisted, tortured way.
