this melancholy.

I no longer understand. No, I no longer believe that I understood.

The realist that I had been, has already fallen. Once again, I believe in happy endings and sweet moments. Those hours of just sitting, and talking about everything doesn't seem so boring anymore. I am excitedly looking forward to an entire day of talking, and laughing and of getting to know each other.

Promises are bound to be broken, and you did not promise anything.

You just asked me, if I could be with you when you will be walking the very same streets that I had walked for three years now. I said yes, but I refused to discuss it. I was doubtful. I thought I like you, and I thought that I would want to spend long nights just to talk to you. I was really happy for how long despite the fact that I always slept at 4 in the morning and charged my phone without breaks for several days just to keep up with your calls. I loved the way you put all of your attention to me-- as if I am the sunlight for your chlorophyll. I loved what you were doing. But you? I was never certain.

Days after, I had finally conquered this stupid infatuation. No more poking wars, no more messages, no more Facebook stalking, no more waiting.

The realist has once again risen.

With the hope of being able to do it every single time that I forget who I am, just to be happier than how I am.

Thanks to my friends, who just laughed off every stupid interjection.