Literary: The 3 Times I Ran Away From Love, and The One Time I Didn’t
The First Time
The first time I felt love, it was with my best friend from grade school.
He was the person who understood me and had been so much like me, we considered each other like twins. We shared similar interests, but most especially in music tastes and TV shows. Through him, I learned that one of the ways you can channel your love for someone is through music. Whether it’s through a song recommendation or your own composition, so long as your heart dedicates it to that certain someone. He once told me that listening to the same song as someone is like sharing the same emotions.
I wondered then, if he could feel my heart lurch every time we shared earphones to listen to a new, recommended song, or when our fingers sometimes brushed against one another.
But my heart realized what those emotions meant too late, and so did I. Only seeing him as more than a best friend fully registered in my mind when news arrived about him leaving, and us being separated for good.
Maybe it would have been a good idea to not just channel my love through music anymore. Maybe it would have been better if I gained courage to spill my heart out.
But I chose to wallow in silence, and ran away.
The Second Time
The second time that I felt something that could possibly turn into love, it was for someone new in my life. Someone I instantly vibed with, someone I found interesting enough for me to be curious about what they had to say or what went on in their head. It was infatuation that drew me in, but fascinating conversations that kept me close. Through those conversations I found comfort, but as fate would have it, my feelings managed to make their way through.
It was during the time when I was starting to set my priorities straight. Deep down, I knew I couldn’t control my emotions or actions that would take place after, suppose I decided to pursue and act on my feelings.
I decided to tell him about them, not because I wanted to be something more, but because I wanted them to die down instead, and for us to remain friends. Moreover, I couldn’t see myself being with him like that for a long time, because I knew that it would only distract me. Looking back on it now, I think it wouldn’t have ended well if I allowed for that to happen. When I told him, he tried to convince me that it would be okay as the feeling was mutual; he had feelings for me, as well. That I would be okay, that we could try and manage it well. But nevertheless, in the series of me asking for a rejection, I ended up rejecting him, ultimately choosing the fate of friendship.
The Third Time
The third time I thought I could love was secretly acts of betrayal and dishonesty. It was through the form of sweet words, exchanged silent smiles, and flirty banter. I have to admit that those drew me in, but the one thing that I couldn’t find - no matter how hard I tried—was comfort. A sense of assurance. I felt like what he wanted was just the shallow acts of love—the grand gestures, the little public displays of affection; the tip of the iceberg, if you will. But I’m not like that. I realized, too, that there are so many layers to me that there are difficulties buried underneath each. Ones I couldn’t address properly. I didn’t need someone to solve or address these, however. Rather, I needed someone who could stand to hold my hand as I’d try to overcome each and every one of such. But it wasn’t him. He made the mistake of worsening and even adding more to them-- he lied and played with my emotions when I thought I could trust him. Instead of clarity, I was only met with mixed signals, hurting me in the process.
Although I had been sailing on uncharted waters, I came to a conclusion that would save me for the following years: that I was worth so much more than that.
The One Time
After everything else that happened, I never expected that there would be a time I wasn’t going to run away from love. The last time I didn't, I had been hurt so much that I didn’t think it was possible for me to see someone in that light again. See, life surprises you. I looked for love in all the wrong places and did all sorts of inane, unnecessary actions that resulted in open wounds and scars. I was hesitant, I was afraid, I was confused. I still am.
Yet here I am, lingering around this love that refused to leave my side.
This love takes the form of a stranger, but she wears a familiar friendly face. I never bothered to spare her a single glance until she stubbornly entered my heart, not even bothering to take off her shoes. Without realizing it, my heart had welcomed her with open arms anyway, as if I had been waiting for her to come home all this time.
As if she had been the missing piece I wasn’t even aware of.
When I took a good look at her, the realization had come slow, late, but clear. She possesses the same wounds and scars as me. I stared at my- our torn-up vessel. It is hesitant, it is afraid, it is confused. This is the love that managed to get through the tough exterior. The love that decided to stay.
And for the first time, I’m glad I didn’t run away.
