She reveals uncertainties. The perfect backdrop for an unsure disposition is to get affection and attachment from someone you cannot have. It is always an imperfect day for her. After what she had gone through, life has pressured her to be with someone she cannot have. She never explores a wider horizon but peeks into the tiniest of holes to get through an even darker plight to the unknown. She knew it was wrong all along. She knew she'll lose. She knew it but she never tried to bequeath. Why will she bequeath? He assured him affection, attention, time, momentum, slow-motion caressing and even time-stopping date nights.
She was secured, protected, valued but she knew it would end soon. She knew she was in deep trouble...she knew from the very start it was trouble. She knew that in the end she won't be chosen. She has never been chosen. She has been neglected. Each night, as she tries to glue back the shards of glass that have been broken, she ended up wounding herself even worse. She succumbs to pain that in her hazelnut eyes hidden. And though masochist is she, she deserves to be happy, to be loved, to be assured that his eyes are only for her, she deserves the love she has never received. She does not deserve to be the other woman. To be the only woman is what she longs for. She is afraid of risking into another chaotic relationship where all she needs to satisfy her is the rebirth of a new relationship where no platonic souls are involved. She is hiding into the depths of the deepest trenches waiting to explode, imploring for love, asking someone to give light on her. She is not like this, she is nothing like this before. She bears pain unfathomable. She is deprived of real love. She is moroseness. She is melancholy. She is suffering. Her silent cries, her deafening silence and the turmoil of the unbearable truth that no one wants her is a slow death crawling inside her head as days go by. She is not everyone's cup of tea. She is not carpe diem for she rushes towards nonexistence due to the deep cuts from her sprawled thoughts and overthinking. She is the author of her life but she chose to be a puppet of her own miseries. She will never have him. She won't, that's for sure. She will never be chosen because of the complacency the other person has for another. She is pretty, she is joy, she is life but she chose to die together with her emotions buried deep within her. She chose to be the other woman and yet she knows she's hurting another. She was sensitive but she got insensitive when it comes to him. She was fair but she was unjust on the real woman. She walks with class but she treads on the ground because she was hiding what they have. She was confident but she chose not to be seen due to embarrassment. She knew it wasn't going to last but she chose to stay for a longer time and that made all the difference. She is intelligent in her own ways but she declines to think that where she is right now is inappropriate. She knows she deserves better but that didn't stop her from settling for less. She is irony. Mainly because she was hurt. Hurt. Those moments where she finds herself sitting alone on an old bench at a park where most people jog and talk and laugh. There she is, you'll find her. She's the only one with face struck by sadness, anxiety, fear and depression. What went wrong? How did she end up like that? She was life. She was joy. She was courage. She was resilience. She chose to be alone, for a time. Until she met this man whose life, joy, courage and resilience instilled in him brought her to life. Not until she knew the truth, that he has a woman. She was independent...she is. And then life brought her to him and she gave life another try. Sometimes, the man chose to love her and she chose him too and yet life, good at playing tricks, reminds them that they can't be together on this lifetime and though they compliment each other, it's still not going to happen. For what it's worth, she knows that she needs to be whole. Of all the fights she had been through, this one is her favourite as though she was competent to outdo the real woman, as though she has the right to demand, as though she has the right of him, as though he will choose her. She knows he's another's. She knows that for the time being she is the real woman but life slaps her with the truth. She is the other woman.
Damn the midnight talks and romantic walks. She is sure that something is going to happen sooner or later, the real woman will eventually find out the truth, she is sure that a man, out of her expectations, will come along the way eventually..hopefully and yet, right now, she chose to become the other woman.
She was secured, protected, valued but she knew it would end soon. She knew she was in deep trouble...she knew from the very start it was trouble. She knew that in the end she won't be chosen. She has never been chosen. She has been neglected. Each night, as she tries to glue back the shards of glass that have been broken, she ended up wounding herself even worse. She succumbs to pain that in her hazelnut eyes hidden. And though masochist is she, she deserves to be happy, to be loved, to be assured that his eyes are only for her, she deserves the love she has never received. She does not deserve to be the other woman. To be the only woman is what she longs for. She is afraid of risking into another chaotic relationship where all she needs to satisfy her is the rebirth of a new relationship where no platonic souls are involved. She is hiding into the depths of the deepest trenches waiting to explode, imploring for love, asking someone to give light on her. She is not like this, she is nothing like this before. She bears pain unfathomable. She is deprived of real love. She is moroseness. She is melancholy. She is suffering. Her silent cries, her deafening silence and the turmoil of the unbearable truth that no one wants her is a slow death crawling inside her head as days go by. She is not everyone's cup of tea. She is not carpe diem for she rushes towards nonexistence due to the deep cuts from her sprawled thoughts and overthinking. She is the author of her life but she chose to be a puppet of her own miseries. She will never have him. She won't, that's for sure. She will never be chosen because of the complacency the other person has for another. She is pretty, she is joy, she is life but she chose to die together with her emotions buried deep within her. She chose to be the other woman and yet she knows she's hurting another. She was sensitive but she got insensitive when it comes to him. She was fair but she was unjust on the real woman. She walks with class but she treads on the ground because she was hiding what they have. She was confident but she chose not to be seen due to embarrassment. She knew it wasn't going to last but she chose to stay for a longer time and that made all the difference. She is intelligent in her own ways but she declines to think that where she is right now is inappropriate. She knows she deserves better but that didn't stop her from settling for less. She is irony. Mainly because she was hurt. Hurt. Those moments where she finds herself sitting alone on an old bench at a park where most people jog and talk and laugh. There she is, you'll find her. She's the only one with face struck by sadness, anxiety, fear and depression. What went wrong? How did she end up like that? She was life. She was joy. She was courage. She was resilience. She chose to be alone, for a time. Until she met this man whose life, joy, courage and resilience instilled in him brought her to life. Not until she knew the truth, that he has a woman. She was independent...she is. And then life brought her to him and she gave life another try. Sometimes, the man chose to love her and she chose him too and yet life, good at playing tricks, reminds them that they can't be together on this lifetime and though they compliment each other, it's still not going to happen. For what it's worth, she knows that she needs to be whole. Of all the fights she had been through, this one is her favourite as though she was competent to outdo the real woman, as though she has the right to demand, as though she has the right of him, as though he will choose her. She knows he's another's. She knows that for the time being she is the real woman but life slaps her with the truth. She is the other woman.
Damn the midnight talks and romantic walks. She is sure that something is going to happen sooner or later, the real woman will eventually find out the truth, she is sure that a man, out of her expectations, will come along the way eventually..hopefully and yet, right now, she chose to become the other woman.
Always,
Jhara
xoxo
Let's collab! Instagram: @yourjhara & goddess_jhara
Twitter: @kissesfromjhara
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