And all that could have been

I hope Machala is doing well. I’ve been too at loss for words to write back as I’ve promised… I’ll get around to it, but I don’t know what to say for the risk of saying something wrong. I could never be part of the game, even if I tried. So I’ll just keep to the comforts of being uninvited. Like Alanis or Natalie Imbruglia.

I deleted e-mails this morning. E-mails I've failed to delete and just held on to... or more precisely, left alone to take up space. I've realized that there's no longer any reason to hold on to things that I no longer have, prospects gone cold in a long threading trails of regret, resentment, emotion. Would be sunshine? Would be hope? Would be lust or love? Could've been anything. But I never deleted them. Why? I don't know why. I have no interest whatsoever of rekindling the fact that what is done is done. Why harbour old memories of frustration? Why still cling to something that could have been even if it was brief.

Now, I keep and hold close what I still have. I can look into his eyes and see only him, not old memories and reminders of others that could be in his place. I stay steadfast to say that I'm in love. And just with one person.

“The optimist sees the rose and not its thorns; the pessimist stares at the thorns, oblivious of the rose.” --Kahlil Gibran

For once I want to be an optmist... an idealist at heart.