Little Did He Know...

That he already fell... into the abyss that confuses pain with normalcy, chance with impossibility... love and death.

Little did he know that he was already dying each time they met. Like a perfect cloud, big, fluffy and white for a fleeting moment, scattering after then, though, still big, fluffy and white... just scattered.

The light pierces through him. It hurts... so much that thinking about it would be pointless. He cannot regret feeling, because it is not something that one can fully control. He cannot wish to not have been in the position to experience this soul-calibrating life event because... well... it's a soul-calibrating life event.

He did not wish to be enmored and yet he is. He fights it with every ounce of his being -- to no avail. At best, he is composed. At worst, there's this burning feeling in his chest that consumes him in anger, for not being blessed enough to get his heart's desire, and despair, for not knowing what to do to raise his chances -- not knowing what will make him deserving. In between, he is exhausted fighting off the fantasies knowing that when he gives in, he will be lost in his day dream. He is deflated.

He takes a deep breath. He sighs. He allows himself to covet from afar. He shouldn't anymore though. He can't help it. He forever counts the seconds until they next meet, but they never do. He sees her, but never she never sees the real him. He's always in pain, hiding, cowering like a sissy girl, afraid to be found out. She sees a brittle shell of masks and make-believe.