Read My Lips

I'm one of those who believe that everything happens for a reason. Perhaps some people will call us delusional for trying to forcefully fix some explanation onto every important occurrence in our lives, but I still want to believe that everything has a purpose.

We've all made bad decisions before. At my age I wouldn't say that any of them were bad life decisions, but come to think of it, they somehow affect my life in a way or another, so technically, I can call them bad life decisions, can't I? Bad life decisions often come with utter regret and unwarranted nostalgia. You can't control it - some things can be redone or undone, while others are probably lost forever - but you can't stop yourself from thinking what could have happened, or what would have happened if you acted otherwise. It's human nature, and if I must say, it's probably one of those traits that make us human. To err and to regret, to truly feel for something or wanna change things. Truth is, we'll never know what will indeed happen; but it's alright. We could think: "Damn, it could have turned out that way...", but we will never know if it really does happen according to plan. And perhaps we should learn to embrace this mystery, an unknown, best left to our vivid imagination and fantasies.

I don't know about you, but can we really totally, completely and entirely forget one person? I mean, we were not mere acquaintances. Maybe we were, and I took it a little more than it could have been, but honestly, even if it wasn't something, it definitely wasn't nothing as well. Part of me tries hard to forget this brief episode, but part of me clings on to it like a grown-up looking through his high school yearbook. Don't get me wrong; I'm not trying to dig up the past or anything. It's just, it occurred to me - in my dreams, to be exact - that I actually wanted something more. But I wasn't brave enough. I thought it was a mistake. In fact, I still believe it's a mistake. I couldn't do it, and you and I both know why. But then again, I'll never know if it truly is a mistake unless it really does happen. That's the beauty of the mystery.

At the end of the day, the most I can do is to wallow in self-pity. A decision I came to rue, I guess, but right now I don't have the energy nor passion left to rekindle this. It happened for a reason that I'll never know, and it's best kept that way. I could regret how I pushed you away and rejected affection, how I should have took the hint, how I should have held your hand, how I should have pulled you in closer, how I should have manned-up and challenged it. For all you know, I wasn't ready for that. Or it could be even simpler - I didn't want you bad enough. I think you would rather I thought the former, but it's over. I'm over it.