It was too late to head back. Curiosity, excitement, whatever it is, I knew I had to see it. I hesitantly took it on my hands that for some reason were starting to tremble with anxiety…. I flipped through its seemingly fresh seams of paper.
While my eyes were scanning the wholeness of its recently published pages, I realized that my heart was slowly bleeding itself to death. The words that I was reading were directly piercing and slashing themselves through me.
Sharp enough to pass straight through my eyes and directly chipped away my heart into tiny bits of pieces.
Earlier I was just biding my time, strolling along some old and recently found avenues, hands in my pocket, looking outward in search of nothing in particular. When something familiar caught my eye… a journal.
And there I was, watching my own life story unfold. Only, I was seeing it again through somebody else’s eyes. Except for the tears that had been constantly streaming down my face, I never felt anything warm. Within minutes I was numb.
I felt the pain, twice the dose of it. First was mine, and second the author’s. What made it even worse was the truth. It was as if a javelin was thrown right into my chest and rummages through my rib cage. I know men are pigs. And I am no exception. But pigs have hearts too.
And this heart made me knew long ago that I had become a pig of the worst kind. I certainly am not putting any lipstick on this pig. I know I am no saint. And I knew for a fact that I am a sinner. A self-indulged philandering bastard who’s too cheesy enough to see life wrapped in romanticism and just an another form of the literary arts.
I was just too cheesy.
The pain is back again, twice the dose of it. It was for both of us. What made it worse was the knowledge of something that was lost long ago. Its confirmation slaps you on the face twice as hard.
It was so bad my recent battle with the unknown could provide an even better alternative for pain.