Liv in a Life Well-Lived

1. I'm scared. I'm not scared of missing out. You fished me out of misery and everything with you still looks better than what I had back then. What I'm scared of is that you would actually convince me I want to live longer than is absolutely necessary. I have made my peace with dying, and anticipate it. But you came along, and now I'm changing my mind. 2. I don't know if I can. I thought when you fall in love, everything will fall into place. At least, that's the hype. You are a wonderful person, but the few things that do annoy me --- it annoys me big time. Now, I am able to accept it, because two years is new and parts of our relationship is still shiny, but I don't know for how long. Something's got to change, and I see you trying, but what if I am not patient enough to wait for that kind of evolution? I want to. But I don't know if I can. 3. I do. I am 85% sure that if you ask me now, I will say yes. I don't know how life will p

Some nights, I lie in bed whittling away seconds from the clock by letting my mind wander idly. Most of the time, my mind chooses to replay memories - some new and shining (or scathingly so), some not so new, some not so nice- reeling through the back of my head like a silent film showing in a one-seater movie theater.After all these memories are exhausted, only then do the ancient memories return. These memories are so ancient, almost embedded in my body's muscle memory, that they ceased to be chronological impressions; instead, they've been replaced by symbolic images and sounds of a life once lived. A doll. A pen and callused fingers. A gasping laugh. A comic drawing of a wavy yellow-bursting sun wearing dark shades.. A candle flickering. Darkness. The moon, full and shining. The last is my favorite memory. It comes easily to me unbidden, unlike the others that needs some urging to come forward. But it always come to me after remembering Darkness, and like a much-hope