lamenting (whose?) lush love life.

In this city, heartbreaks happen in every ticking of a clock.

Heartbreaks from settling debts of your car.
Heartbreaks from missing your bus to work.
Heartbreaks from watching a crippled beggar crossing a busy road.
Heartbreaks from not being able to say tender words to your loved ones.
Heartbreaks from realizing your foolishness in misguiding another clueless taxi drivers.
Heartbreaks from knowing that this will not be the only heartbreak you likely encounter.

As I sat on a bus from my sibling’s house in a suburban area officially put in a map as a city in another province to the heart of this chaotic city, I couldn’t help thinking while randomly looking at some passengers who drew certain expressive lines in their faces, mostly covered by thick particle of dust. These people have gone through every single painful heartbreak prior to hopping on this fated bus, yet they silently chose to seat themselves in the broken couches, and marched on with their lives.
An old saying of “life goes on” is the only saying they wholeheartedly apply in facing the toughness of their lives, thus another heartbreak of mine is considered a small, if not nothing, feast they can laugh at.

Maybe it is not even a heartbreak when it comes to a matter of hearts, and make that two of hearts.

A heart belongs to me, and another is twinnie’s.

My relationship with twinnie has been going on for a little more than a year by now, and the fact that I am living in the same city with him has opened a new chapter in my life, i.e. I finally embark in a short-distance relationship.
Being spoiled with a long-distance one, the adjustment has never been easy so far, with a few patches here and there that often almost bogged down the relationship itself.

Worse, being infamously, and some despise as notoriously, known with the reputation of twink-hunter who likes to cruise for young boys in many strategic places, at many times the intolerance took its toll upon me, leaving me feeling depressed and repressed, be them sexually or mentally, while I couldn’t bring the matters up to him.

Early diagnostic of my well-being would be easily concluded as that I am not mentally healthy. I am not raising any objections to the idea, while I still arrogantly keep my defense, a hapless one, by saying that: “I’m fine!”.

Right now, I’d like to keep that statement though.

Why?

Because I addictively love him.

Yes, the meandering activity goes on, the words have been off to the dust, the nights have gone to become meaningless passing of time, but sometimes, despite the heartbreaks, your heart inexplicably tells you to believe.

And I believe in him. And me.

Now, now. The heartbreak and its potential comeuppance really lead to having the fingers playing along in writing such a subjective entry, don’t they?