love is not such a wonderful thing after all. What happens between those saccharine-sweet love vows and honey-smitten angst of not seeing the one you love and the perpetual silence and waiting for the call that might never come?
Why cling on to a relationship even though deep inside, one knows it was never meant to be. Perhaps it's love, but not love that would last forever. There's too many contrivances, whisperings and murmurs and sighs of 'I can never make you happy'.
Not love, just a feeling of painful weariness of having to continue the search if this one doesn't work out. Just a refusal to admit that one is not perfect enough and has failed, in love.
He doesn't identify with my fears, hopes and dreams. Yet he says he loves me and I am very important to him. There is no one who is more important than himself to him. Life for him is meant to be lived without having to compromise his personal interests, and love has to somehow fit into all those convoluted angles. Self revolutions for him and love compromises for me.
I am losing both my authenticity and sanity.
I am not happy, he is right. I don't know how long I can hold on...
p.s Singapore is blanketed by haze right now, much like the lovescape in my life, saturated with a certain degree of unspoken fuzzy confusion.
