It is funny how in times of great boredom, I begin to think, to ponder upon my past sins. Perhaps they themselves have prepared themselves for this moment, in which the absence of stimulation whether physical or mental allows my mind; that twisted void of hate and confusion, to break free from it's bonds, it's heavy chain and shackles. It gives them the freedom to flood my mind with the poison called self pity, it corrodes and it digest my impaired self. Hence, I must ask to be excused, to be forgiven even, for I shall begin this post on an apologetic note.
I have recently been haunted constantly by memories of a great lover, whom I still regard as a person undeserving of what befell her. Yes, she too fell victim to the jagged, poisoned edge jaws of my non-existent attention span, one which I truly do regret. As the days of our romance came to a close, when the gates began to shift, to close, I found myself adamant upon searching her flaws, her faults, some too small for me to even make a fuss on. I, of course, being an egoist, have no illusion on her being perfect but close to it, yes, I shall allow myself to believe it.
We were not, of course, the perfect couple so to speak, not the Romeo and Juliet of modern times but nay, at that moment, fueled with adolescent lust and overdriven by hormones, it did not stop us from brushing off those voices of friends who told us not to. It was perhaps for the greater good, but I for one, do not regret that we took that leap into the welcoming arms of oblivion. Yes, I admit, at the time, I had a few scandals going round, particularly with a close friend of hers and with another friend whom at the moment, I did not particularly have the attraction too. We were happy though, if I have to really say it, I was Orpheus, while she, well fuck, she was Vina Apsara in the flesh. I guess that was the problem really, we might have been great lovers but somehow, our stories did not match. I being Orpheus, seeked her in the underworld and eventually lost her forever and Vina, well Vina really didn't give a fuck did she?
Of course when it comes to the blame, I admit that a large share of the failure falls solely upon myself. I became, as most egoist do, possessive, like a mother and a child, I smothered her, unfairly I might add when I knew that there was an unspoken rule about the whole relationship. We were nothing more than two people looking for solace in each others' arms, once we have depleted each other of warmth, sucked them dry right from inside the bones, we would part.Three years it had taken me to realise that fact and come to think about it, could have salvaged the relationship, repaired it even, picked up the broken pieces and glued it together again and yet, I did not. I believe that it must have been because I was afraid, fearful of the commitment, being bound to only one person, I thought that would be the death of me. I still wanted to have fun, still wanted to be in the market, still wanted to be, well, a pussy magnet if you could excuse the term. I still have not the slightest inkling on what her full name is, nor her age - I suspect that she is a few years older than me - and her favourite food? Fuck that, I was too busy to notice. I must've wounded her quite deeply I must say, especially when she needed me to listen. She sometimes told me of a relative whom she was very close to and he died at a tragic young age. Until a few days ago, I never did believe her, to put it in simple terms, I suspected that it was a ploy to gain pity, to let me ignore my guard for long enough that she, as a succubus, could get to my soul. Yes, I am quite twisted.
To say that I was acting ungentlemanly would obviously be an understatement, an asshole might suit me better. Whenever she would not express that public display of affection which I thought was quite a suitable way to tell the world that we were in love, I would be overwhelmed by this tide of wrath and fury which now makes no fucking sense. It did not occur to me even once that maybe she was embarrassed or that she had a different way of seeing it. The very fact that she was a celebrated beauty evaded me, any association that she had with any males was a direct bitch-slap on my part, I was envious, the very manifestation of jealousy and it amazes me how I failed to see that she was deeply hurt every time and her heart progressively became icy.
I do however have an excuse, whether legitimate or not, I could really care less for no relationship related matters could actually be the fault of only one party only and for this matter, I put a small share of the blame on the - What else! - Indian gene. See, what I had in mind was a huge epic love story, influenced by no other than those motherfucking Hindi movies where we should, by the fucking logic of nature, traverse plains of existence, soar above skyscrapers and go fucken dance in fucken space beside the fucken stars or something along those lines. I wanted it to be a story where people would actually remember and pass around; in short, I had illusions of grandeur...
Well, I guess it doesn't really matter now eh. We can all go walk the fucking dinosaur for all I care.
I have recently been haunted constantly by memories of a great lover, whom I still regard as a person undeserving of what befell her. Yes, she too fell victim to the jagged, poisoned edge jaws of my non-existent attention span, one which I truly do regret. As the days of our romance came to a close, when the gates began to shift, to close, I found myself adamant upon searching her flaws, her faults, some too small for me to even make a fuss on. I, of course, being an egoist, have no illusion on her being perfect but close to it, yes, I shall allow myself to believe it.
We were not, of course, the perfect couple so to speak, not the Romeo and Juliet of modern times but nay, at that moment, fueled with adolescent lust and overdriven by hormones, it did not stop us from brushing off those voices of friends who told us not to. It was perhaps for the greater good, but I for one, do not regret that we took that leap into the welcoming arms of oblivion. Yes, I admit, at the time, I had a few scandals going round, particularly with a close friend of hers and with another friend whom at the moment, I did not particularly have the attraction too. We were happy though, if I have to really say it, I was Orpheus, while she, well fuck, she was Vina Apsara in the flesh. I guess that was the problem really, we might have been great lovers but somehow, our stories did not match. I being Orpheus, seeked her in the underworld and eventually lost her forever and Vina, well Vina really didn't give a fuck did she?
Of course when it comes to the blame, I admit that a large share of the failure falls solely upon myself. I became, as most egoist do, possessive, like a mother and a child, I smothered her, unfairly I might add when I knew that there was an unspoken rule about the whole relationship. We were nothing more than two people looking for solace in each others' arms, once we have depleted each other of warmth, sucked them dry right from inside the bones, we would part.Three years it had taken me to realise that fact and come to think about it, could have salvaged the relationship, repaired it even, picked up the broken pieces and glued it together again and yet, I did not. I believe that it must have been because I was afraid, fearful of the commitment, being bound to only one person, I thought that would be the death of me. I still wanted to have fun, still wanted to be in the market, still wanted to be, well, a pussy magnet if you could excuse the term. I still have not the slightest inkling on what her full name is, nor her age - I suspect that she is a few years older than me - and her favourite food? Fuck that, I was too busy to notice. I must've wounded her quite deeply I must say, especially when she needed me to listen. She sometimes told me of a relative whom she was very close to and he died at a tragic young age. Until a few days ago, I never did believe her, to put it in simple terms, I suspected that it was a ploy to gain pity, to let me ignore my guard for long enough that she, as a succubus, could get to my soul. Yes, I am quite twisted.
To say that I was acting ungentlemanly would obviously be an understatement, an asshole might suit me better. Whenever she would not express that public display of affection which I thought was quite a suitable way to tell the world that we were in love, I would be overwhelmed by this tide of wrath and fury which now makes no fucking sense. It did not occur to me even once that maybe she was embarrassed or that she had a different way of seeing it. The very fact that she was a celebrated beauty evaded me, any association that she had with any males was a direct bitch-slap on my part, I was envious, the very manifestation of jealousy and it amazes me how I failed to see that she was deeply hurt every time and her heart progressively became icy.
I do however have an excuse, whether legitimate or not, I could really care less for no relationship related matters could actually be the fault of only one party only and for this matter, I put a small share of the blame on the - What else! - Indian gene. See, what I had in mind was a huge epic love story, influenced by no other than those motherfucking Hindi movies where we should, by the fucking logic of nature, traverse plains of existence, soar above skyscrapers and go fucken dance in fucken space beside the fucken stars or something along those lines. I wanted it to be a story where people would actually remember and pass around; in short, I had illusions of grandeur...
Well, I guess it doesn't really matter now eh. We can all go walk the fucking dinosaur for all I care.
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