i remembered when she shared me this story about love letters buried under a tree to which dreams were made, about how love unites two different souls, and how we could mold destiny to seek the love of our lives. it was three years ago and i could still remember the way she smiled-one of the most beautiful things i had ever witnessed in this lifetime.
there was this guy carrying a single red rose, slowly going down the stairs. eyes were upon him and yet he didn’t care. everything was a blur except for the face of the girl sitting by the piano, playing pachelbel. it is true that a girl is most beautiful when she plays with the keys of the piano. i would sometimes imagine being that guy, carrying a pink rose instead of red. i would give it to her after striking the last note of her piece. and then i would imagine her smile, and freeze the frame in my head; the same smile she wore the day she shared me this love story.
i miss writing love letters. i miss writing corny poems. i miss painting. i miss being with someone and yet feel completely free; free to love and express love the way i know how and in the way wanted it to be expressed. i am missing a lot of things when i am brought to the emotion of being in-love when i can’t be in-love. i am not sure how my heart reasons out, but before i finally give that rose to someone, i’d want to make sure i have already cut away its thorns… write a love story, live in it, hopefully with a beautiful end i would wish to see…
. . .
"Destiny is making a bridge of chance for your love..."