“Like seriously, you believe in those stuff?” asked Jane, our
batch brainiac.
“I didn’t not until I met Justine”
“NO WAY!” I shouted. “How come you never told us? We’re like
super girlfriends and you haven’t even mentioned his name 12
years ago!”
“I have the the most valid reason, darling. So are you girls
ready for my dead love story?”
“Bring it on, Candy.” we said.
Candy grabbed her vintage diary and read it in front of us.
Dear Diary,
It was hard saying goodbye to Justin.
He was the water to my fire, the lyric of my poetry, the rythymn
of my music, but sadly, he was also the kryptonite my very own
super power.
There is no use of logic. There is no sound reason for this.
There is no mark to start with. Not because it doesn’t exist, but
because it is not permitted.
I used to see soul mates as a part of some fantasy world
not until I had my own experience with one. I learned about my
vulnerability, my stupidity, it may not be academic, but it still is
stupidity, just with a different branding.
And even this “love” isn’t love at all if I don’t say good bye. In
this case, the measure of its authencity is through giving up, not
pushing through. It is not about creating a connection but about
breaking it. Most of all, it is not about holding back but moving on.
It was beautiful but painful to see the photos of his wife and
kids; too beautiful just to be broken.
Candy