dramatics and shields, revisited

I think I am melodramatic. (Or can anyone be melodramatic when it comes to feelings? After all, you feel what you feel. Should the mind ever try to rein in the intensity of the heart--with all its foolishness?)

After an exchange, I am reverted back to the familiar scene painted by Amy Tan, the daughter putting up her castle of defenses, only to realize her perceived opponent is waiting outside, weapons nowhere in sight.

What are the shields for then? These defenses one puts up around themselves. Whether it be their own achievements or relationships with others, is it a product of external forces or of one's own folly?

It's an odd tactic, trying to escape outside myself.

**

house of cards

Again, I must come back here with yet another entry about you. They almost feel repetitive now, or at least predictable. Every quarter or so, I come back, and the first inevitable blow sends me off the ground, suspended and floating backwards, because, unlike the rational outsider, I never seem to be prepared for such apocalypses.

These little insinuations, or "guesses", as you call them. What are they for? Except to tear away at me little by little, so that everything I've built myself--everything I thought were real and unmovable (even by you)--seem like a house of cards, crumpling down with your careless little blow of air. A merciless smirk lurking around your blood red lips.

Do I seem melodramatic? Very well then, I am melodramatic.

**

emerald shield

For the first time in my life, I think maybe what I have isn't enough. This is such a revelation to me that I hardly know how to respond to it. Except, instinctively, the green-eyed creature wells inside me, and it takes all my shamed efforts to quell it.

Maybe it's not so bad a thing. Without the Machiavellian nymph, insidiously weaving vines about me, what other monster could take over? Self-defeat? Certainly Envy, with all her baggage and reputations, is also what keeps us afloat.

**

bridges and tricks

After so much time has passed, I come back to you almost accidentally. I can't believe I'm still not completely over it. A simple song sends me flying here, a song that exists not as a bridge between you and me, but rather a reminder of the fact that the bridge could never be.

Besides you, I also miss him. I have a lot of questions that are unanswered, and he continues to remain an enigma. Right now, it looks like I will never know. Perhaps it's better that way anyway, anytime a trick is revealed, the magic no longer seems real. The illusion is almost always better than the real thing.

"Those in the know lead the worst sort of lives", the ignorant tell ourselves.

**

semantics

In response to the last, it has never happened as of now, because you won't even look at me, or pretend to. (Though how could you have pretended to?) However, I have no real feelings about it now (like I had none to the first snowflakes that drifted today, sparse and listless). It can be the project of the future (I've given up the possibility of treating it as nonconsequential, everything to me has too much consequence. I've decided I can't (or won't) change that as for now. Just like how you said you won't about you, because you're too (since you think age is an acceptable criteria for this) young.

**