The Irony of Faith

(Prolog)

In a relationship
Having faith in yourself,
in your lover,
and in the in the union itself
wouldn't keep the relationship alive
as long as the lovers don't have faith in themselves.

Their lack of faith will snowball,
roll, got stuck,
roll around some more, hitting another part of the relationship
until it spreads itself everywhere.
Cancerous, growing, lurking

(You're a human with your own free will)

If you're somehow lucky
it will pass within your eyesight; open.
Both of you will be able to stop it.

(Continue to point A if you choose this path)

But

If the pain felt deserved,
it will get bigger with deceit and white lies; hidden.
Lies that are not so white at this point.

(Continue to point B if you choose this path)

A.

I heard, from who I once deemed as a wise man 

"In a relationship, the burden of one is a shared burden.

So is the happiness "

Relationship was never about power and taking

It has always been about loving and giving

As we human often heard 

"The one who care less is the one who holds more power in a relationship.

But happiness doesn't equate to power.

And happiness comes from caring more about the person you love,

not less."

B.

My child, sometimes no matter how much you give, hope, and bend yourself

Or how much tears you shed saying "It isn't supposed to be this way"

The ache would still hold your hope by the throat, saying
 "But it is what it is."

My dear, you give every excuses a name, exhaust yourself to the bone  

But who would take care of you once they seized all the life out of you?

Done with deceit and lies,

off with their mask, acting as if betrayal is part of your faith?

When the time comes,

Who would save you when you question your worth?

In a commitment, communicate.

Strip yourself naked, bare your fear, ego, and parts of you you're still refusing to clap for.

Because humans have been nothing but cruel, but the World has been nothing but giving. 

When She collides your path with a loved one, take this as a blessing.

In a relationship, show oneself.

To see them the way you want to be seen, all battle scars and victories.

Because in the world where everyone worship personal gain, 

the worst thing you could do to someone who has faith in you is to rob them off of their belief. 

(Epilog)

In you truly love them, put down your mask.

You owe it to yourself.

You owe it to the one you love.

Standing Ovation From Above

It's always the traitors who scream about treachery.
The abusers who speak about toxicity.
The offenders who pose as victims.
The bitters who are dying to look the happiest.

What a show, what a show indeed.

It brings me joy seeing you try to make sense of things you don't understand.
To see you crawl, and try, and crawl, and try some more.
Desperate to see which one of your attempt will set ablaze. (How pathetic)

It brings me joy to throw out baits, knowing exactly when and how you'll bite into it.
To sit down and watch how pitiful & empty your shows are.
Like trained circus animals, puppet on a string. (A fun show, indeed)

It brings me joy to watch you humiliate yourselves, stooping lower every time.
To collect names & list, smiling at your desperation.
Not even worthy of a reaction when we could. (Oh, the things under our sleeves)

It brings me joy to know our happiness bothers your peace.
To see your obsession reeks insecurity, you're not enough, and will never be.
Ugly, distasteful, and funny. (Birds of the same feather flocks together)

The show's over. The curtains are closed.
Sometimes you have to share some fortune to the unfortunate ones - letting them think they won once in a while.
It was fun while it lasted.

My calculation is proven right, one more time.
As always.

Punishment? No need to.
I am not yours and that's enough of a punishment.
You're walking into your own trap, downgrading with what you deserve; much less.

Once upon a cold, endless night, a dark King offered a young woman his hand, his heart, and his kingdom.
Even with contradicting believe and opposite baggage, his eyes told her 

"I would move earth and water for you; remember this when you become a Queen." as they came into union.

History always prevail: one one who wears the crown never come in the name of peace.
"Protect the Queen" one often hears.
"Because the Queen is the most valuable piece" one often remembers.
And just like in the game of chess, the Queen protects her king.

Sometimes, Home is a Person. Sometimes, Parole is Self-Granted.

I roamed around the place, seeping on my newfound freedom.
Imprisoned for the longest time, my way out was never granted.
Every time I wanted an out, a 'letter of apology' always came through, late - with excruciating choice of words that grew my hatred towards apologies.

It was the end of the night, you hesitated for a bit before saying
"I've seen something, the one who sent you countless of letter of apologies has written, about you" you looked at me with concern "You're portrayed as the villain, a one-man villain in thier public pity-party."

Silence filled the room.

"Did they went into details about their share of faults too?" I asked.

"Not at all." 

"Did they acknowledge they have always been the perpetrator, from the very beginning? Or, or how desperate, how countless of times they begged and begged for me to accept those letters?"

"Neither that."

"I see"

And there I was, in the brink of anger.

As if it wasn't enough they made roundabout within my surroundings, my family member, my career, my friends, only for it to backfire at them, because people are questioning thier state of mind, reported all the he-saids she-saids to me.

 "Did you see what they did?" 

or 

"Their action reeks desperations" 

or "I instantly knew what happened, so I am telling you" 

which I brushed aside saying "It doesn't concern me" to them - I stayed silent through it all.

After trying to leave you multiple times, we were in agreement to move onto different paths, exactly what I have been wanting from the moment I rejected the last 'letter of apology'. 

Finally.
But nevertheless, from what had been happening, should come as a surprise to me that you have always been a pathological liar.

I did not find the need to overly flaunt my happiness, my newfound freedom, my contentment with the right person - I was more than happy, privately.
Secure and happy.
Keeping it all shut, focused on rebuilding what's left on me, what you broke.

You try to flaunt so much, desperate to make me see, to reach out to me, showing the act you put even when I cut you off.  People make joke out of your terrible slam poetries and horrible lack of personality. 

But you were shameless, you did not just stop there.

You stoop so low, selling sob stories wiping out your share of guilt, contradicting your own desperate words and actions, and making disgustingly pathetic fake profiles to stalk and harass my surrounding. 

So pathetic that people starts telling me; whoever is now in a relationship with you, must have done a pretty terrible job of being enough.

I was disgusted - but I saw this pattern already. You did to me what you did to your ex, and your other ex before that. Gaslighting your partner the same way you did to me, and to all the women before me. 

Make the current hate the previous one, and the next would hate on the current; same made up story, same abuse.

But of course, at first, I was angry.
Angry that my peace is being disturbed.
My peace of mind I had been fighting to have.
Angry that I thought it was the end of it all.

"You see, you have two options, either you forgive them - which we both know now their apology was never sincere, or forgive yourself, for letting yourself be in that position - I couldn't care less about your past nor judgement passed onto you, but this is affecting you and soon enough, us." 

My lover told me one night.

I paused my mourns, wiped my tears.

 "I am happy with you. I happy, growing, planning, moving forward." I said, laced with anger.

"Now the thing is, it's very clear, you are happy, but they are not - and people know it, hence them telling you"  calmly, you reason with me.

"I am tired. I was painted a saint for staying, but suffocated like all the woman before me - then suddenly, I was the villain for leaving. If I was truly vile, then why begged for me everytime I wanna leave? " My voice started to crack.

My heart was laced with anger, face laced with water droplets. 

"What can you expect from an insane, pathological liar?" you came closer "Desperate to find ways to you, to get your attention. Making stage full of delusion, begging for people to listen to lies about you, then harassing you, me, us. That's effort, and it shows how pathetic they are. Not at your level, not at our level." 

I was quiet. 

"You shouldn't be affected, you don't need to stoop to their level. Now you're hurt - this is affecting you, and eventually affect us.  Get this, it's not about your past - I couldn't give to shit. But now you're hurt." 

Still looking at me, you continued 

"I knew it was bad, but watching and reading what they say, I tried to digest it, and it felt truly like bunch of delusional teenagers seeking attention.  I know how truly bad it was now. I still don't know what exactly would hurt you, what would trigger you, if I say or do something in the future that remind you of what they did? Those kind of things will affect us, so, please, for us, okay? Let me know what should I do." 

Tears started flooding out again.
You wrapped yourself around me.
I became just ever so slightly, less hysterical.

"Everyone they contacted all backed off, and went to you instead, questioning their sanity. People said she's acting weird, and they know those stories are all fabricated for self gain. That is sick.  You asked for no further contact, yet look at them. Desperate and low." 

You convinced me. Soothed me.

"Baby, I am so, so, so tired" I repeated " They disgusts me. They disgust me." 

There I was, completely ran out of fuel. Motionless. Whispering. 

"We don't know when they will stop. They're shameless and low.  They don't care about you. You ex is desperate for ways to talk to you, about you, and unfortunately for the new girlfriend, she is just a stupid tool. Who would feed their partner obsession for their ex? It's a literal "Fuck you, you're not enough" in her face"

"So let's focus on you. You're scared. You're hurt. You're frightened. You need time to heal. She's nothing, not important, doesn't matter if she'll waste her time doing this. You need to be okay first, alright, darling? It's about you now."

"I hated who I was, who I turned out to be. I hated all the choices I made to survive - and most importantly I hate my ex and how I was taken for granted." my words were still heavily laced with rage, and pain.

That lowlife destroys people yet still very deluded about playing victim. My colleagues, my surrounding, my family, all came to me questioning why I had been carrying this burden for "my attention seeking ex". Blamed their failure in studying on circumstances, yet institution after institution, still a loser. Blamed their work life on me, yet people come at me complaining about their terrible work ethic. Telling me their psychiatrist loved and trusted them, only for me to heard it myself "You keep their meds, they can't be trusted with anything". That was it. Once I heard what the psychiatrist said, I know they're doomed and I had been lying to - like everyone else, they even lied to themselves and believe it."

Cold silent.
Your fingers ran through my hair.

We went silent. 

From time to time I would continue pouring all the hatred and curses I had kept for so long. 

You were paying attention. 

I would went silent again, at times trying to calm my spike of anxiety. 

You were there, and I felt seen and heard for something I had been running from.

"Now, let's figure out ways for you to heal. I will be there, through every single steps. For you, for us, okay? About you. What can we do for you?"

Right there, I realized maybe there is a silver lining in this monstrosity  after all.
In your voice, I found no judgement.
In your voice, I found genuine concern.
Fear? Definitely. Questions? Without a doubt.
But not a single trace of hesitation.

"I didn't have time to heal. I kept it - I don't know where to start. I didn't even know the pain was still there" I pushed you aside, a bit, to get a clearer glimpse of your figure. Still stubborn in my choice of words, full by anger.

"You're happy now, true, but the pain they inflicted, you can't pretend it's not there. You have to admit that it hurts, admit that the pain is there. First, let's do that." you paused "Find where you've been hiding the pain - you owe this to yourself."

I owe this to me too. I owe this to myself. I repeat the sentence in my heart.

"You need to start forgiving yourself, the relationship was a mistake, not on you, but you were unfortunately trapped in it. So forgive you, for you - for us, too, in the long run" you paused "Because I want us in the long run too."

Me too. I want us too in the long run. 

"I don't know how" I said.

"Neither do I. " you continued softly, "So let's figure it out. I will be there, for you. Until you've healed. Until you're fixed. I promise, okay?"

- 

Little by little after that day, I've learnt that parole doesn't always come from a second party.
Expecting a sincere apology from someone who never truly feel sorry for their damage, the biggest forgiveness I owe was to myself.

Filled with rage and paranoia - I want to drag everyone through hell where I had to fight my way out back then.
I was humiliated, taken for granted, lied to, and repeatedly blamed for somebody else's incapacity to be human.
Doesn't matter how fragile or tough I had been, I was destroyed - and yet you stood there, looking at my far from perfect, wounded being, with nothing but love.
Now I understand why it didn't work out before you.

Hell Risen, Earth Nurtured

Almost two hundred days, over two hundred times, my humanly capacity has lost count of how much layers of infernos I would need to pass in order to purify these cultivated sins.
My heart would ask: do I need constant reminders to have some faith, in myself, in who I love, in what I know is worth fighting for?
My brain would go: nothing is ever a coincidence, the chance, the signs, the plans are laid in front of your eyes.

Almost two hundred days, over two hundred times, uttering 'nothing has ever felt so right' has never sounded devastatingly, ever so beautiful.
My heart would tell: if you know this is the right thing to do, all you've got to do is believe in yourself. 
My brain would go: if you're smart and strong enough to survive all the debris of your shattered heart, you're smart and strong enough to work this out.

I have never asked for anything perfect - I just want to have what's meant to be mine.
No deceit, no facade, no masks or pretending to be, no luring in, no pushing and pulling, because for the longest time I have been tired. 
Exhausted to my bone. 
Sucked to the brim of my soul.
Disheveled to shreds and pieces, no matter how intact I appear to be.

But then you happen.

You. 
You are the best thing that happens this second.
You are the best thing that happens this month.
You are the best thing that happens this year.
You are the best thing that happens last year.
You are the best thing that happens this lifetime.
You are the best thing that happens to me.
You are the best.
You.

And then us happen.

Almost two hundred days, over two hundred times, and yet still, I am craving for another two hundred days, two hundred weeks, two hundred months, two hundred years, two hundred lifetimes, and laughters, and unraveled layers, and shared thoughts, and fears, and plans, and pillow talks, and conversation in between our sheets, and all that life has to offer for the two of us.
My brain would utter: this is the right one, the right thing to do, the right thing to feel - and most importantly, I no longer feel in denial about it.
My heart would whisper: sometimes what you settle for can be a little too less, sometimes what comes your way can be a little too much, and on rare occasions cracks and wounds fit each other so well that lights got in - to remind you of arrays of hope you thought was no longer there can.

Parole

For the longest time, I was a prisoner.

But today I was paroled.

Unexpectedly.

Once in a blue moon, I would receive a letter, at times it would be wrapped in pretty words, most of the time, just some shabby sentences.

Full of fear I wasn't aware of, I thought each letter was sent to prolong my imprisonment; years long of fear, not knowing which day the sentence will come.
Full of anger I wasn't aware of, I felt each letter was sent to toy around with my mind, like the boy who cried wolf, puzzled me of which cry for help to believe.

And the irony of it all, the letter was always filled with apologies.

But what to fear about apologies, you may ask?

They felt, for the longest time, like punishment,
for I know they were never sincere,
for I know they would lose its meaning in split seconds,
like phases of seasons, like wolf in a sheep's clothing,
for I know each time I open my door of forgiveness or plant seeds of trust,
they will come to dawn disappointment on me,
for I know forgiving equals punishing myself for further heartbreak.

I was learning the hard way that apologies without change is just manipulation,
and that my forgotten forgiveness would find its way to manifest as sharp, blood-thirst desire to survive, to ease my pain.

But today, I was paroled.

Did the verdict being lifted off of my head? It did not.
(I heard kid babbling, noises of nonsense, I played a fool to know the extend of it all - I let it be)

Did the false title being smeared away from my name? It did not.
(I heard the devil shall embody beauty, but this one with a Judas' kiss, came without it - I let it be)

Did my fear, my heartbreak, my aching, were being acknowledged? They did not.
(Two faces, smell of malicious intention, different words in front of only me and in front of us - I let it be)

At last, did it matter about the wrongdoing I had to endure?
For today I was paroled.

I could've done what pleases me, or
I could've done out of predictions and loops, or
I could've warned you about the devil, and
I could've map out its very apparent the string of blooming manipulation.

But if I done so, this time around I would fail at saving myself.
Knowing about the doom, knowing about strings of lies that would be put on my name, this time around, I am saving me by choosing to keep it to myself.

Free.

Today, I was paroled.

No longer a prisoner.
No longer having to see my compassion being wasted down the drain.
No longer having my jar of forgiveness fed onto someone that values them for nothing.

And for the love of God, I am on my knees.
For the love of God, I am begging for mercy.
For the love of God, I am offering my gratitude.

For the day where apologies I receive won't taste like a bitter pill and heartbreak waiting to repeat.
For the day where my forgiveness will only find its way to those who find abundance in them.

The Knight With Flaming Horse

Act 1. Scene 1.

Tell me, is there such thing like coincidence?

Act 1. Scene 3.

Are we all just arrogant creatures, belittling Universe's ways to entangle souls and places and events and thoughts and emotions, then just wrap them all up in a box called 'coincidence'? 

Act 1. Scene 5.

Aren't you just interesting? Tell me what you're hiding behind those walls. A treasure chest? Forest of monsters? 

Wait. It's not like I should care either way - and why you, out of all people?

Act 1. Scene 7.

I am nice and in control. Nice and in control. 

You shall not have any power over me.

Act 2.  Scene 10.
Sitting on the edge of the bench - I was staring at you.
From the tip of your monochrome shoes, to the top of your perfectly well polished hair.
The more I study your being, the more beautiful you get.
(Trying to blame it on my overly exaggerated shallowness - believing that a beautiful fool is my least suspicious weapon)
But I want more - but even then, I don't think more would be enough.

I want to drink your words and read your thoughts, wear your laughters like lace undergarment and replay your hazy eyes in my sight like a Sunday morning tune, wrapped in your scent and arm while listening to your fear and dream.

More - I heard my heart asking.

Studying every movement - like an eagle to her prey.
Closely watching as your lips are forming words, disguising my longing eyes as if I was paying better attention.

I am fine - I'm in control - again, or so I thought.

Act 2. Scene 5.
I am drowning - in words, in feelings, in fear, in everything I can't pinpoint.
(And I am scared)
The shape of your figure that I can barely recall with my eyes?
Our forming words that answer one another like music sheets & melodies?
Your echoing vocabularies that decide to latch onto my memories?
I am not in control - and I need to know why.

Act 2. Scene 11. Part 1.
Our kiss was a secret handshake, a passcode, a gateway drug that lets my heart know I was heading towards the direction I didn't know I have been looking for; you.

One glance at you and my spine melts like metal under blowtorches, dripping down, the way the junction of my thighs are behaving, and my stomach? It decided to act funny. So is this what rom-coms called butterflies?

City lights, the stars, and the moon tried their best, flirting with my sights, and still - I couldn't move my glance from you.

Act 2. Scene 17.
We love like emissaries, leaving mark as traceless as possible.
I secretly wish it was evident enough, that any innocent glance would freeze our act on their memory.
I secretly hope we'd leave our trace in this world, because we were beautiful.
With full pride and vanity, I'd say too beautiful to go down in history; vanished, and forgotten.
There is nothing wrong in wishing that somehow, someday, somewhere, this bulk of emotion could find its way out in this world.
There is nothing wrong in feeling this much, this intense, this beautiful, about one another - or is it?
Nothing has every felt this right, and no wrong has ever felt this good.

Act 2. Scene 11. Part 2.
There was no clean way to enter this war zone, being a seasoned crown wearer in blood bath, I thought I'd manage.
Around us, a cutthroat land where only the perverse ones, chosen ones, would be standing still.
Each ticking second is a torture knowing I couldn't lay my finger on you and call you mine - wholly, greedily, very humanly; mine -
but who am I even kidding?

Calling you mine is a cakewalk scale of nuisance to compare to what life has been before you.
To know when I first lay my eyes on you, life has been chaptered into two, before I met you, and us, right now.
You woke me up from my emotional hibernation and now I am craving only you.

Act 2. Scene 30.
The secret is, my love for you is the only empire I would ever build.
You give everything an embodiment when I was close enough to give up searching for its meaning.
For the very first time I wouldn't mind the bruises on my bare skin.
For the very first time I wouldn't mind the extra miles I'd crawl for.
For the very first time I know I wouldn't be building only gardens, only castles, or any other 'only'.
For the very first time I am kind to myself, I am listening to what I truly want.
For the very first time I know, this will be worth it.

Wait - was that a war tactic I just heard? You truly are magnificent.
I would be more than honored to let you be in charge.

Act 3. Scene 1.
So what will happen if it falls, like most kingdoms do?

Fair question.

But honey, do you know that to fall deeply for someone is to take a gigantic leap of faith - with no safe landing guaranteed, and despite the lack of assurance, nothing feels more certain?

Me? I've seen days when I thought this heart was made of stone, days when people keep on telling me so - and I grew to believe it too.
Now I found something I didn't know I was looking for.
Something I wasn't aware was absent from me.
Alive, fragile, and yet never felt so empowered - so what couldn't I risk for it?

Epilogue.
They say The Universe falls in love with a stubborn heart - and today I will be selfishly, stubbornly, demand and ask for Her blessings.
I want this, like nothing I have ever wanted before, and with a wishful heart, I am humbly asking.

They say when one truly wants something, The Universe will also conspire them to achieve it - so mote it be.

Long live The King.
Long live my King.