Few nights ago, I was consumed with deep frustration and apprehension. I wanted to divert my attention to something rather blissful but it did not come to me because I simply could not let it come to me.

I fought my way to sleep. Instead, I came upon the notion of crying. I wanted to weep, pour away my anxiety. How bizarre, my tearducts have dried out long ago. Perhaps, my eyes have minds on their own. They wanted me to weep no more.

I cannot fathom the feeling of rejection. I have loved so many times before. Yet all those times I loved deeply, I ended up hurt, broken, damaged.

I cannot blame my heart if it chooses to follow intense emotions. That is, aside from stating the obvious, one cannot fight what is inevitable.

I have lots of friends who warn me about the complications of loving. They know me well. When I love, I have this tendency to walk thru paths blindly. Despite their continued protests not to go thru the dark road, I still persist.

I do not know why but I am easily disarmed by men’s tenderness. I cannot resist their masculinity. There is something mysterious about them: how they love, how they care for women, how they worship women.

I am not certain whether my prince charming is on his way to finding me. I am not even sure if a gentleman out there acknowledges my very existence.

I long for the moment to finally set my heart free and release me from this agony.

Somehow, I wish someone would eventually wake me up from this dream — a dream I wish would come to its untimely death.

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