I was never fair to my heart for quite a long time now. I made it believe in the idea of unrequited love – pushing it to hope a little more; dream a lot more. I let it go through so much pain – that every time someone tries to come near, I would easily open up for them to see how it looks : wounded, badly broken, with a great desire to be whole again. But no one dared to come stay, probably because it was too much to handle.
So I guarded it, covered it, built a wall so high nobody even noticed it anymore. I crushed every idea of loving, of trusting someone to take care of it. I made it believe that it is waiting for someone, but I never really wanted to try anything because I’m scared that it might again lead to another catastrophic end. I lost the will to care for it, after all, no one does anyway.
I relished in the fleeting desires of the body. I made sure that what the heart lacks, the body gets. Until I forgot how it felt like – for the heart and body to be one. I damaged them both so badly, that they no longer knew each other. Slowly, I tried fixing them.
But have I come to a point where both body and heart have endured so much, that they just want to be alone? Would I ever love someone again? hold another person’s hand, watch a movie with him and laugh at silly nothings?
Will there ever be a person out there who can be enough?
There are times that I’d be scared. Other times I just want them to go ahead and try, because we will never know until we do so. But then again, how sure am I that both body and heart are strong enough not to let another person take control of them? I don’t know if it’s worth risking everything again, I don’t know if I should let my heart go through another round of stupidity and pain.