There’s a glasshouse on a hill.
People pass by and appreciate its beauty.
They wonder though why it remains empty.
Some visit the space from time to time.
Checking what’s inside.
They come along but they always realise the glasshouse seems so cold to stay overnight.
Until one time a young man with a lamp barged in.
The glasshouse was used to gentle knocks but not by visitors with flames within.
Surprised the glasshouse opened all of its doors.
Defying the flames that melt the icy corridors.
Warmth and light illuminated the walls, ceiling and floor.
The village rejoiced.
Alas the glasshouse turned from shades of white and blue to a spectrum of hues.
Everyone noticed, everyone cheered.
But the lamp he brought wasn’t meant for a long term thing.
Like some who tried to reached the top of the hill, they turn their back once the fire needs a little more effort to sustain its constant heating.
Despite the glasshouse’s yearning, it cannot force anyone to stay on top of the hill.
The glasshouse was left with nothing but cracks out of collission of fire and ice.
The seasson will change and snow will fill the cracks or hope to find a way to let all the ice go.
Until then this glasshouse will mourn on top.
Awaiting for a strong hunter to roam.
Hoping the next will be more than just a pit stop.
Until the day this glasshouse turns into someone’s home.
This year I will remain hopeful.
I will take where my heart leads me.
I will take it no matter how irrational.
I will take it no matter how risky.
I will follow my heart.
It’s something I never fully tried.
I always turn around around and hide.
If all else still fails and I end up crying, at least I knew I tried.
That’s what happens when a woman is complete on her own.
No amount of attention nor praise can make her crave for you.
Shower her with time and effort, you’ll just make her skin crawl.
You can’t do anything to have her unless she wants you.
Frustrating isn’t it?
To not be able to make a prey out of a woman.
To not make her weak in the knees.
How does it feel to be beaten in your own game by the woman who won’t easily fall?
No Harry & Sally while poppin and chugging wine or martini.
I’ll happily replace it with a bunch of Kate Hudson movies and loads of Love Actually’s.
I’m happily moving on.
2016 will be the last that I’d ever consider a you for me.
Maybe the present requires us to appreciate the city lights, sunsets, sunrise, and coffee separately.
Maybe despite the vastness of this Universe, a portion of US will be kept.
Somewhere, someday we will realise there’s so much hope for you&me.
We will look at each other and know we’re just effin meant to be.
At this point I am ready to ask,
no worrying about the answer.
The torture of rejection certainly feels like the pain of not knowing.
And the only thing I know is this is my final straw.
The last moment to hear a yes or a no.
To start or stop.
To go or to let go.