paradox of reality

He fascinates me… I didn’t think it possible for a guy to be capable of having such complex character. It’s hard to decipher him, which is why I want to do it even more. It’s like a game we play, both of us, trying to understand each other… Trying to find who’s going to crack first. Guess I am the one losing here, not because I am cracking but because of this insuppressible feeling that I want to… what makes it even more frustrating is the fact that I know I shouldn’t be feeling this way in the first place. Trying to remember the point in time when it all started… This game of hide and seek, the time when it was possible to have given a different direction to our relationship.

It’s so tiring sometimes to always have to hide behind walls, to always have to listen to the reasonable side of me, to always be reminded of what’s wrong and right. Although I might add that lately these walls have been of not much use, as I tend to jump them at every opportunity possible and then end up in tears later when what I knew would happen actually happens… I wonder how many times I need to make the same mistake to learn to stop doing them. Blame it on my over-sensitive hyper-emotional heart! Fool that it is.

I can’t remember a time where I didn’t have to go through dealing with this big mess of feelings, when I didn’t have to always feel two conflicting emotions at all time. Even if I am doing something right, there is always a nagging feeling in the back of my head telling me, I really don’t want to do it even if it’s right. Does that make me a bad person?? Always thought it was a side effect of having lived too long in the imaginary world of knights in shining armour and princesses… where you could be sure of an ending which was satisfying at the very least, if not happy.

Huh, I miss the times spent melting into my bed and into the world of stories. I remember when and how this love for stories started… from colorful books of poetry… The jataka tales bought by parents and monthly edition of champaks taken from an elder brother’s room… remember the time I started to make a world of fiction of my own along with the famous five and the secret seven of Enid Blyton. It’s really hard to come back to reality after having lived too long inside my own head… people really are as bad, horrible, backstabbing as my parents warned me of. And equally unexpectedly kind, warm and caring… I feel I am living in a paradox…



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