The Thoughts of Micro Me

I found myself smiling to my own self last night. There was something I couldn't relate or else understood for the last couple of nights. A night before, the moon was bright, as circular as any spherical shape should be. Two nights before, I gathered that seeing myself in another part of myself was something useless or despairingly eerie or maybe somehow I could say that it was annoyingly disturbing in the first place.

Two days ago, I met someone through the net. It has been more than 5 months since I met M or H or F or any alphabetical guys I used to fling with. And it was exactly two days ago that I felt the airy feeling came to myself again, as though the hardened lung of mine, has softened to its perfect lung-y shape. As though I was revitalized by an agonizing ultimate external force that came inside me, literally no but maybe that was how I felt at that precise moment.

The feeling of being cared.

The feeling of being taken care of.

The feeling of being loved by someone near and yet so far.

The distracting feeling of falling in love.

Or the distracting idea that I needed to get laid, desperately.

And the reality that it was not something long lasting.

It wrecked me. Like being hit by a car from the back, not knowing what to do, and any actions to be taken before it happened. Or maybe I was stupid in the first place. I should've anticipated this long before I knew him, and I shouldn't forget how deep wounds were hard to be healed. How it stopped bleeding but the pain was still pulsating like heart beats, like drinking ice cold water during draught, like the moment when we departed and the time he whispered me goodbye.
And yes, it was the idea of meeting strangers. The thrill and the excitement of predicting what I had in mind, of what it had to offer in the end. The momento and the weeping. The laughs and the daunting. The reality check in retrospect of the fantasy he and I made up from the exasperation and sheer desperation of getting laid, under the big shining moon, on the hill, hushed by the chill cold night wind, with the two towers at the back, on the bed of dried maple leaves, for one simple reason.

And it was the idea of meeting a stranger, the foreign and isolated entity of something I never met - that driven me mad, so far. Keeping quiet and dumb for all the questions, and icy cold responses (especially for someone that was so draught-y and dried like me), and the rejection in silence that he delivered was an assassination like a massacre with a mass destruction weapon.

Like an atomic bomb in the heart of Hiroshima.

Like a mass murder in Afghanistan.

Like watching World Trade Center collapsed.

Like being laid and numb on the operation table with the chest open, and rib cage cut into half and witnessing the clock ticking to the end of your breath.

Like being rejected for the 34th time in less than a year, by different person, in different occasion, in a whole lot different conclusion.

The self esteem so low my morale dropped, I lost control.

I lost the ability to maneuvre back the boat I've been living throughout my life. As though having a paddle that has been broken into two. Keep on paddling but it was only an inch moving.

The era of meeting someone on the net, and unfortunately falling in stupid love with him, has ended for me. At least that was what I adhered right now, so that I knew I had the limit and the line that I shouldn't step beyond, or else I will see myself breathing with the hardened lungs all over again.