Smiling at the Storm.

For some reason, my post on 25 June went into hiding so here it is again --

I'm going to try and be strong.

I'm going to try & recover as much as I can - of my identity.

I don't want to be wallowing forever about You.

It is no fun, no fun at all.

It's been 8 years and with every waking moment sans work, people or distractions, my mind gravitates towards You habitually.

It's become a crutch, a comfort bolster of sorts.

Much as one would like to insist, it is not a simple matter that can be dismissed with "Don't think so much about it." or "You should stop this."

An amalgamation of mental & emotional torture, it is exhausting to repress memories & surged emotions that arise from time to time.

Floundering is a familiar stage that gleans woefully.

Nobody chooses to be this way. Were it based on pure rationale, one would choose to be Happy.

Of course, if you have yet to experience an abyss that you could barely wade in, let alone hurtle yourself out of, then you'd probably be shaking your head with cloy judgments clouding your faculty of mind.

Or you could be thumping your chest in pride and sneer that you've experienced it, so floundering is merely a "failure". Yes, you're your hero. Hooray.

You see, I had not just invested my heart in it; my soul went along with the jamboree.

It is not simply j.u.s.t. a man - I've had my fair share of boyfriends & men who were (and still are) in pursuit of me. Those faded into oblivion easily - It was The One, one whom I'd been drawn to since 15 but took a decade to know; one whom I'd deemed as being too good for me but still showered attention on me with plenty of affection.

Now, a Fantasy would have been elusive and a figment of the imagination.

No, no, it was not a fantasy. Rather, it was a Dream come true.

Now, we've oft been told to pursue our Dreams, to throw caution to the wind & be true to ourselves.

Pardon my verbosity but allow me to unravel my train of thought - when one has invested wholly in this Dream, one's sole existence hinges on it. As it pulverizes, so does one's sense of Purpose. The heart can no longer feel, because it is no more. And so, as the days go by, sediment wraps upon itself in convexes layers, albeit hollowed.

At this juncture, one would be prone to blurting, "Don't put all your eggs in one basket."

Well, it's too late.

I prop myself against the couch, sipping my chrysanthemum tea of the garden variety and make a conscious decision to battle this further.

This has knocked the wind out of my sails for a long while.

I'll find my bearings.

Slowly, but surely.