Feb 17, 2012


When he was done with his dinner he moved to the seat beside her. I noticed that they never stopped talking, and it was about things going on in the workplace, in university, bigger issues in society. When she was done they got up and her hand slipped effortlessly into his, instinctively, as the doors opened for them and they stepped out into the night together.

Love isn't just about a secret world. He's your other half; you are each other's strength. He isn't just a refuge from the storm; he's also your umbrella, encouraging you to face the rain and the thunder, with the assurance that he'll always be there to protect you. Love is about a couple becoming one, each providing the other with energy to take on the challenges of the day, walking hand in hand into the world, facing life together, stronger with the support of each other. That's love.

I never felt like you gave me strength. You never let me be your other half; as much as I knew you thought about me and all, my love only went straight into the deep recesses of your heart and stayed there; never helped you break down the walls that kept you from the world. We never gave each other the energy to face life; we only sapped each other's strength. Love isn't just about taking in, it isn't about the couple itself. It's about how what you take in is given out. How the love translates into golden rays that rid your souls of darkness and make the world glow a little brighter.

It was an immature love. I tried, but I knew I could only help you as much as you let me in. We were never really able to be each other's source of strength. You were a secret, one that hurt to hide, that struggled to make itself known in the unexpected tears at assembly, or when a friend told me to smile, or before an exam paper, or when my friends were talking about their guys, and the ball of fire was at the tip of my tongue wishing to be set free. It wouldn't even have hurt to hide if you weren't a problem that my friends always had to come rushing to help me solve. If you had been my healer, things would have been perfectly fine. If you had known all I was waiting for was a good morning or a reassurance that you were thinking of me, if you had known all I wanted was to know how you were feeling. You know, in the couple of days before everything crashed, I was beginning to finally trust.

But you couldn't have been a healer, because you were my only problem.

You weren't my strength.

'only two days more'
'it's two days till you're free, Karen.'

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