It is what it is.

I fell asleep listening to a playlist inspired by you. My song count pronounced that, in my sleep, I listened to each song thirteen times.

If I had been superstitious, that would have been an omen.

And when I was trying to sum up what I felt for you, there was only one line that rang true… and it didn’t contain your name.

Why are first loves so difficult to let go? Why do they have to be the barometer of what comes after? Neither are they easily forgotten.

I marveled at how much I loved him. And I know why: because we were friends before our relationship deepened. There was a connection between us that went beyond physical attraction.

Unfortunately for me, my greatest love became my greatest pain. I was naive to believe that we would withstand the test of time, distance and the foolishness of youth.

Admittedly, there is one who’s been trying to get my attention. He doesn’t love me — I know that for a fact. Even if we’ve known each other for years now, what we know of each other is just too superficial to declare it anywhere near that feeling.

But we’re both in that time of our lives where it seems we have the same priorities. And if I could just be true to myself, we would be a good match. Not perfect, not ideal, but good.

Much better than what we could have, if ever there is a chance. You’re only beginning to enjoy your life, and I’m here looking to settle down. You would have spelled fun for me, the fun that I sacrificed myself from having to become what some people wanted me to be. My choice may not have been the wisest, and there are times that I wondered what the heck I was thinking, but it was a choice I made nonetheless. I learned to live with it. If that sounded resigned, then it is what it is.

I waver on my resolve, yes, because I admit that I am led on by my perception. But the truth is, I want security. And as long as nothing has been said, I have no right to expect.

I could hope that something happens, but I’m too old to continue this fanciful thinking. It has always been the extremes for me. If it’s not you, then it’s not you. Why insist on it?

Neither am I saying it’s going to be him. I don’t need to give him a chance. What I need to do is to give us a chance, a chance that I have been withholding because I kept on stupidly, foolishly hanging on to my fanciful longing of being with you.

You may be the stuff of my dreams, but sadly, dreams are not reality. And at the back of my mind I knew this, which may account for your presence in my thoughts. I loved the you I made, not the you that you are.

Which was very selfish and hypocritical of me, since what I wanted was for someone to like me for what I am: my thoughts, my words, my actions. Not how I look or how I portray myself, and definitely not how others want me to be for them.

In the harsh realities of day, the idealized notions just evaporate, leaving only the salty remains of broken dreams.

After all, it is what it is.


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