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Maybe

I know how sharp the barbs on the roses can be, I know how deceptive the mellow of love songs can be, I sure know how confusing the arrows of cupid can be. I have lived and I have learnt just when to give and just when to take. Life has taught me how to be down in the mud and how to be up in the air. It has taught me how it feels to be broken and to be loved unconditionally, to be in chains and to have wings. Maybe we have to fall to know how hard the ground is, maybe we have to be broken to know how it feels to be healed.
I have lived I have loved, sometimes too much and sometimes warily. I have given my all and they have not, I have gone an extra mile not knowing they didn’t even take the first step. Maybe, maybe I should love just enough. I have learnt not to cry for love just yet. I have learnt not to mourn when she leaves, not to run after her when she takes off but still, that never stops them. Maybe we have to be dead to know how it feels to be alive, maybe we have to crawl to know how it feels to fly.
I fight for the truth while they revel in their lies. I see them every night in my dreams, little do I know I dwell in the dark corners of their nightmares. I think it is love not knowing I am a waiting bay, a resting point in their search for the knight in the shining armour, that temporary bank where feelings are invested in and withdrawn at will. They make me think I am walking down the aisle only to realize I was walking her into the arms of He in the white suits. Maybe, just maybe I should sit and wait for that day, maybe someday is my day.
But then, a fool I’ll be not for long, I’ll not be the one listening to sad songs and relieving heartbreak after heartbreak, I shall not be the mule, to carry heavy loads, to be battered with whips and sticks but still lean to my master’s will. Even that cowardly stray mutt, she always fights back when she is backed into a corner and there is no way out. I shall not bend till I break, matter of fact I shall not bend at all. Let them say my heart is of stone, maybe it indeed has turned into stone. I am tired of being the one rocking the child to sleep then try to find mine among the deep roots of insomnia caused by its snoring. Call me a narcissist, maybe I am a narcissist, but why love you when I can love myself over and over again? Love is true only when you are true to yourself. I refuse to be that bed they rock every night in the throes of passion, maybe I refuse.

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