A Saturday Kind of Love..!

How do I write about romance without making
it sickeningly sweet?

This was a serious dilemma that kept me
from writing for days.
The beat was against my rhythm but I wanted
to sing to a new song. However,
if you knew me well enough,
I like sticking to the familiar.
It was uncharacteristic of me to try something else
in the menu apart from the usual, or to choose
an ice cream flavor besides chocolate.
It was hard enough for me to form a habit but also
as difficult to break one.
I couldn’t commit to reading a hundred books a year
and my pile of literary purchases are now gallantly
decorated with cobwebs.

This was the week that I was trying to stay clean
and gave up every vice I had. I was hooked, quite madly;
like a masochist inflicted with varying amounts of pain,
or the sadist inflicting it.
It resulted to my frequent mood swings.
The plan was that I will be reverting to a healthier lifestyle
ever since two flights of stairs already made me catch
my breath, although I am not sure to which extent
I should take it or how long can I even keep it up.

I was a religious escapist, slipping away from reality
with every chance I get, but there were no open doors.
I was held captive by my numerous addictions. And before
I was ever able to own my body, it has instead owned me.
My body was never my temple; it was my cemetery.
In it, I burried decaying bodies that withered
into porcelain skeletons.

But I have to say this; I was addicted to life.
Somewhere along the way, however,
I forgot how to live.

It is not too late. The idea would be tabula rasa.
But it is never that simple. Can I die and live again;
blank, pristine, no longer bruised and callloused?
Humans, in their present selves, are simply imprinting
over their past selves.

He was sickeningly sweet, wasn’t he?
To me he was at the time.
And when he was gone on that particular Saturday,
it turned into days in which I choose to forget.
I can only wish that I had more Sundays.