aadambautistaa

My Theatrical Play.

If my life was a theatrical play, these very moments that I’m a part of would be the parts where you would hear the audience weep as tears slowly roll down their faces. If only they knew that this is not the middle or climactic part of my life as they await for an “happily ever after”, but they are already in the midst of the denouement. 

This story of mine isn’t destined to end like a fairytale. It isn’t a play where the heroine ends up victorious and it isn’t a play where you can walk out of with that warm fuzzy feeling that I have not felt in a while. But rather, this will end with the monsters and demons of malicious nature winning through their torturous deeds.

This is a play where you will see me suffering slowly as my soul torn into tiny shreds and stomped on repeatedly. You may see a fake smile etched across my face and hear a fake laugher echoing across the auditorium, but please don’t let it trick you for they are part of my mask to deceive all of you. 

What happens at the ending of this play you may ask? I don’t expect that you will know it. For when the final scene is taking place, this theatre will be mostly empty except for those in laughter, for in their eyes, they have seen a comedy of where I’m mocked and ridiculed into disparity and humility. And what about the other people who once occupied the now empty seats? A handful have left because this tale of mine was to depressing to sit through for the performance that has made them feel a minuscule of my pain was already to much for them to take. The rest have left because they realized they could care less about the main character up on stage and will soon forget me the moment they step outside of this hallowed hall.

But I’ll tell you this one fact about the final act of this play depicting my life. It will end with me alone on centre stage. Those other actors and actresses of ‘friends’ and ‘family’ are already gone. Though they were part of this production, they all left to live their own lives, leaving me as only a memory. People always leave.

And the perfection of this ending is that it’s consistent with the rest of the story that has already been told, for I’ll be alone surrounded in darkness and the pain that has always been present will still be piercing through my heart causing it to ache. And as the final few seconds pass, the play will finally be over and the the curtains will close and it will be the end.

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     Can I just faint right now? I mean, this very moment? Aadam followed me! Gummy! He’s one of the foreign blogs that I’ve been looking up to. And to be followed and complimented by the one who inspires you to write, is awesomely and superbly heart-warming! Thank you. Don’t feel like one. You’re unique and you have so much gift in writing. God bless you! Waaaah! :)))

We look at our lives, and we just expect the worst. We begin to think that good things don’t last forever and that people always leave; In the end, we try to find early warning signs of why a relationship won’t work, maybe just so we won’t end up as surprised when everything goes wrong
—  aadambautistaa

The worst part writing is that my words are never my own. Once ink leaves a pen and touches paper, those words that were once mine are stolen and is never returned. The meaning I intended these words to have when they are written are immediately lost as they are read, and takes an entirely new meaning by the reader. 

I can attempt to write a sequence of words that are meant to describe the beauty of love. A person suffering from a broken heart may see it as lies scribbled across the page that is adding to their misery. A child may immediately think of those fairy tales they constantly fantasized about. And someone in love may feel these words fall short of describing love with justice, as their experience of love is something that can never be capture with just words. 

In the end, I’m left with nothing as the emotion and thoughts that were used to write escaped with the ink forming these words. In the end, all I see are words that are not mine anymore and one day I will forget that I have even written them. My eyes may even past by these words fifty years from now and I’ll assume that a stranger had written them. You see, the worst part of writing is that your letting everything you kept inside go, never realizing that you may of not been ready to let it all go just yet. 

Sometimes.

Sometimes, I wish that I knew what I looked like through your eyes. I wish that I could read your thoughts to know if you ever think about me as much as I think about you. I even wonder if you’re even scared to lose me; if you care about me at all or just taking me for granted in your life.

Sometimes, I wish it could be as easy as just looking into your eyes and to know how you feel about me. I want to know if all these sleepless nights and over thinking is worth it. I want to know if you’re worth it or if I’m just living in a fantasy.

And sometimes, I wish you could read my mind to know what I’m too scared to say. To see what you would do if you knew what went through my head each day. To see if you would even care at all.

Imperfectly Perfect.

I would be lying if I said that there wasn’t a time in my life when I imagined the perfect relationships mirrored the ones found in movies, shows, and novels. Where every date was an adventure that turned in to an unforgettable memory, where the right words were spoken every single time, and where everything in the end always worked out so smoothly.

But reality is, that life is much more than just movies, shows, and novels. We learn that chances are, we won’t have that relationship that Hollywood has made famous. More often than not, the right words will be hard to come by during an argument and won’t be ending with a kiss in the rain. That dates won’t be as well planned out but may be just as simple as dinner or watching a movie on a couch. And solutions to problems won’t always be so easy to find, but something you have to work hard at.

In the end, you realize that you have something that no fictional tale can replicate. You realize you have someone who cares and loves you. It’s a feeling within that lets you feel so happy that a smile that is only caused by one person is formed upon your face. And looking forward to the future becomes so much easier because you hope that you have that one person by your side no matter how it turns out. You have something imperfectly perfect.