I stopped counting the days somewhere along the way.
There was this flashback where we ran into the square, we flied, and so did our love.
The teargas was different, so were the voices I heard coming out of the people surrounding me in times of sever danger. Our concerns grew apart, it happened before it officially happened.
We have similar approaches to the story. We have distinctive approaches to life, generally, and what we want out of it, essentially.
People demand... It was in or authority to yield to their wishes and so it is. You were the people, my own revolution. You stripped me naked to my core, believed in me, cried and let me go because it just hurt too much to watch me not turning out to be what you thought I were. It felt like someone yanking my teeth out of my gum. Getting off on my bleeding. The process was inexpressible, my nervous system didn't know how to react to such pain.
Up until this very moment, I haven't figured out the way a perfect love story should end. The dictated options sound either too mainstream or too dramatic, I refused both. Neither of us insisted on a closure... Maybe this is how it is supposed to look like.
I wanted to live. A decision I adopted shortly after, the teargas was different and I kept looking for your gone-voice after each chant. I heard your strings being stroked, but someone else was playing them and so I sang along.
We the workers,
We the peasants,
We the people.
They all wanted me to find me again.
I consumed a lot of poison.I somehow expected that by consuming that, you would die. I threw it all up on new years' eve. What was left, I threw up in your face some twisty dark night on a beach. It is all hazy in my mind, nothing is linear. With you, nothing ever is.
As they shook me satisfied, you stood still.
As you began your own cycle of self-loathing, I was getting over myself.
Declaring that I will not lose this round, I will not give in to you winning, that I fought for love and will still do, just in a direction deviating from your face, path and ego.
I was over the whole cycle of getting under someone just to see how revenging myself can manifest itself through other people. I was done hating myself enough to whore "me" around. I wasn't over the fact that you chose to sleep with people who couldn't pronounce your circumcised name right. Does it get as intense as their rain-tanned skin under your nails?
Moving forward became a lifestyle, one I can easily relate too. Everything that has been was then, now is new. Now is recreational and colourful. Definitions changes and what I deemed necessary became unrealistic.
Love grows within you outwards, revolution cracks you open, ready for inhaling it all again.
It takes courage to let go, let go when you must, for me to live, for you to live and for love to come our way. The soldiers had to leave, for us to see what other options we had.
You had to go, for me to see what life has to offer once again.
I love every part of me.
Did you have to die for me to see?