Maybe Next Time

I read this quote somewhere. "Maybe we'll meet again, when we're slightly older and our minds less hectic, and I'll be right for you, and you'll be right for me. But right now I am chaos to your thoughts, and you are poison to my heart."

How can this be true to us? We did meet when we we're young, and we've met again when we were older. We weren't too naïve, but like in most cases, our vulnerability never ceases to exist. And I've never been more vulnerable than when I'm with you.

You bring out the best and the worst in me. Alternating, overlapping, pulling and pushing me to my limits. You are never my weakness, yet you are the death of me.

How can it be? There was never an us -- air quotes implied.  You are not my one great love, and I'm sure I'm not yours. But the gravitational pull you have on me is stronger than the Earth's core itself. I guess there's no need to explain, no need to give meaning to my worthless rants. It just is.

For now, my beloved, I'll just be content in being the wall you lean in. The shock absorber. The soundboard. The listener. The best bud. The forever brother. Forever may not be true to most people, but I'm determined to make true to our promise of 'always' however fleeting that may be.

So maybe, we'll meet for three times. The first time when we were young, when we were innocent and naive and not knowing. The second time when we were older and exposed and exploring and experienced and vulnerable and too self-entitled that it will never work out. And for the third time when we're both wrinkled, scarred, jaded, bruised and tired -- maybe that time it will be all right.

Or maybe, just maybe... Ours is not written in the stars, and this is but a rant of a drunk lover who can never call you "mine".

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