In Trust We Hold

ASSALAMU`ALAIKUM WARAHMATULLAH

Hello, fellow readers. It's been ages since I last wrote in English. So here I am, writing English-ly, about to say something regarding love. It's nothing so much a personal issue (dilemma??). Some novel inspiration just hit me and I happen to have free time. So yeah, to cut it short; a blabber written in English. Thought I could use some of it for myself.

Love is about believing

How I wish there's a woman out there who could lend her ears as I recite my stale poems. I'm not asking her to believe my poem, all I'd be asking is to believe in my poems. That's a mile difference right there. How I wish, if such woman exists, she exists in the same place at the same era as mine. I might have the feeling that she doesn't seem to be so. So, here I am, carrying on my poetry, as if it is some kind of a flash card to signal her:

"Hey, I'm here!"

If she's in the future, I hope my writings reach her. I really do. I want her to feel what I've felt in my lifetime: forlorn. I wish, how she, while reading my words after words about her, feels a deep connection to a poet who's long gone. To shed tears on page where I used to do so as I wrote that page. I don't want to be physically available to her; it's not that I reject physical attraction, it's just that I don't want to change my perspective of what love really is. Heck, I don't even know if such premise is legitimate.

"Take away all her beauty and her criteria; what would've left of her for you?"

I couldn't seem to grasp the idea of love as good as others do. I do feel that intense longing of someone, as I lay myself on my bed, whilst staring blankly on the ceiling. For instance: some people believe, favorable criteria are the prerequisites of love; but for me, love is the only prerequisite that makes one's criteria seem favorable. You don't love someone just because she's an ideal partner; you must think someone is fitting for you because you love her. I often ask: take away all of me, what would've left of "I" for "her"?

And one thing I learned in life, harshly put: to love someone is to choose whom you'd hurt the least. Hurt the least. However absurd your promise not to hurt her, you'd one day. You'd not talk to each other about things as simple as where to eat. One way or another, that's the mortgage of love. If so, then not committing to love is not "hurting the least". Heck, it means not hurting at all. In this, one has to be in an eternal solitude.

Some say, in loving, not committing is equally hurtful as committing. In committing, you'd hurt her by your insecurities and imperfections. In not committing, you'd hurt her even more so by not being able to protect her from harms others may inflict upon her. But, be honest, as you see her being loved so much better by others, would you be in the way and go to say, "She's not safe with you! I'm her protector!". You can't be so convinced as to believe you are her only guardian. Others might have the same conviction.

"If I become a poet, I could be a great poet; but do you reckon the same if I were to be a lover?"

I am a poet; and a poet's job is to preserve mankind's trust upon love

I have wholeheartedly accepted the fact that I might have to unconsciously commit in celibacy. Not of physical reasons/aspects, but of spiritual reasons/aspects. I don't want to get in the way of someone's love story, I sometimes think I'm only worth being an author. I don't deserve love. Man as chickened and analytical as me shouldn't be let roaming, breaking people's hearts. But that doesn't mean I don't love you. Yeah, you.

You

Sorry darling I could only kiss you

by my words, songs, poetry.

I could only watch you live

in futures I could only dream of living.

Sorry darling I cannot touch you

You're so out of reach

So in front of me

So near, here.

Sorry darling I'm in your past

I dwell much better in here.

I've never dreamt of having you

I had all of you. The past you.

What more could a man like me want?

I'm sorry darling of my cowardice

but know that I'll never let you go

I sincerely never had you.

And although love is true

Loving you, still, means hurting you.