LenaOnTheMoon
New member
- Joined
- Aug 29, 2023
- Messages
- 15
- MBTI Type
- INFP
- Enneagram
- 9w1
I don’t know at what point of life I stopped believing in true love. Or rather, I still believed in it, but I stopped dreaming that it would happen to me. Stopped hoping it would apply to me. Because it doesn’t. Because as fate would have it, I’m cursed in terms of romantic relationships.
No one can replicate the intensity of my emotions whenever I fall in love, for it isn’t simple physical attraction that makes me lose control of myself; rather, it is the yearning for a kindred spirit that makes me hold on to a fragment of this elusive dream, in which I am the star and my love is the moon.
It doesn’t make sense, but it’s true. When I still believed in love, every boy I fell for was like a unique flavor of ice cream, some sweet and pure like vanilla and others poignant and tantalizing like chocolate. Every time I fell, I fell hard, but the harder I fell, the quicker my feelings dissipated, until all that was left was nothing but a distant memory. In these fleeting moments, I experienced the first aroma of young love and the bitter heartbreak afterwards. My heart broke into shards more times than the sun has ever cast shadows on the ground. And now, after all these years, I’m tired of love, tired of looking for love in places where love will not be found.
My first few loves were innocent and childlike, and they were nothing but a game to me, because I was young back in those days as well was them. My first real heartbreak happened also when I was young, but the tears I cried then had merely been for show. Up until high school, I had never taken crushes seriously, as if they were not an etch inside my soul but merely the cherry on top of the ice cream sundae.
Then in high school I got my heart broken by an upperclassman, and after that I began to feel. I began to have a heart. And it hurt, having one, knowing that they were blissfully unaware of your tribulation, your pain, your memories. You loved, but you had no control over it, like a water bursting through the dam, like the sinking of a thousand ships caught in a swirling maelstrom, like glass shattering into half revealing the truth that hid behind it.
As the lyrics go, “Hey Siri, could you teach me how to fix my broken heart? ‘Cause no one made it stop, I just can’t get it to start.” I was broken, and thought that a significant other would help. When the truth is, all I needed was to look inside and find her, find the vulnerable yet strong girl resting inside my soul like a volcano ready to unleash its power. She’d always been there, smiling at me, when others had doubted me, laughed at me for being obsessed with the idea of love. She never wavered, always knew the answers to the questions I couldn’t look up online. She loved me, when I thought that I could never find anyone who could reciprocate my intense feelings. In a way, I have always been my own kindred spirit, my mind being a breathtaking palace of beauty and magnificence.
I remember how it was like, before the realization, to love and not be loved in return. I know many of you hold that it’s a cliche, and while I know it may be true, that was how it went.
The guy who made me feel like I might belong, in this world of strangers, happened to be one who could make every girl feel special. He was everybody’s type, easy to talk to and good with people, while I was withdrawn and insecure. He could have been good for me, might have drawn me out of my shell, and might have corresponded with me on an emotional level, but I gave up on him anyway.
The guy who reinforced the belief that I didn’t had brought up the term wandering during one conversation, somehow reassuring me that while the world was not my safe haven, it wasn’t his either, and that we were two lost souls who had found each other. I had thought that he meant we could get lost together, hand in hand, like two travelers in a foreign land. But that’s not what he meant. That’s not what he meant at all.
Hope, he told me. Then you wouldn’t feel so lonely.
But hope for what? I no longer hope for true love. Though I may be young, I have an old heart. I have cried for three boys in my lifetime, the last being the most profound, the most painful, the most raw. I can still picture that day coated in mist and fog, with snow falling all over the cab like lost little pearls of silver, words and tears tumbling out and getting carried away by the wind, and the numbness in my skin chasing away the cold. I remember the stinging pain in my heart, the sense of longing, the wanting but not having, the feeling of missing someone so much that it hurt.
I have felt the sensation of heartbreak with every fiber of my being, and I do not intend to relive it. That is why I choose to give up on true love. I convince myself I don’t need a man to make me happy and that by constructing my inner wall of serenity I can achieve self-actualization. And it works. At least, in the daytime.
But at night, when the stars are awake, I’d dream about love. I would wake up in the morning, shivering alone in my bedsheets, my mind chasing feathered wings of a broken dream.
To deal with a broken heart, I mend it using my pen as a stele and words to carve a healing rune for my heart. They say that swords, when they are broken and mended, are stronger in the mended places. Maybe hearts are the same. Maybe it is only a matter of time before I am whole again. Maybe I already am a complete version of myself.
We INFPs are sensitive souls. That’s why it’s harder for us to heal. But once we do, we become stronger than we were before. The tears we shed are no longer tears for our own loneliness but a cascading stream created by God to purify the bitterness, resentment, jealousy, fear, desire and melancholy that used to roam in our souls.
To escape solitude, you must embrace solitude. To truly get over heartbreak, you must come in terms with what you’ve experienced, in order to move on. Sensitivity is not a weakness but a strength, and heartbreaks are only train stations on your way to your destination. So if you ask me if I still believe in true love, I’d say no, but that I have discovered something much, much better than romantic love, and that is the love you offer yourself and the love from your family and friends. Hold on to the people who love you, rather than the people you’re in love with, and you will live a happier life than the girl who is caught up in her fantasy of love.
No one can replicate the intensity of my emotions whenever I fall in love, for it isn’t simple physical attraction that makes me lose control of myself; rather, it is the yearning for a kindred spirit that makes me hold on to a fragment of this elusive dream, in which I am the star and my love is the moon.
It doesn’t make sense, but it’s true. When I still believed in love, every boy I fell for was like a unique flavor of ice cream, some sweet and pure like vanilla and others poignant and tantalizing like chocolate. Every time I fell, I fell hard, but the harder I fell, the quicker my feelings dissipated, until all that was left was nothing but a distant memory. In these fleeting moments, I experienced the first aroma of young love and the bitter heartbreak afterwards. My heart broke into shards more times than the sun has ever cast shadows on the ground. And now, after all these years, I’m tired of love, tired of looking for love in places where love will not be found.
My first few loves were innocent and childlike, and they were nothing but a game to me, because I was young back in those days as well was them. My first real heartbreak happened also when I was young, but the tears I cried then had merely been for show. Up until high school, I had never taken crushes seriously, as if they were not an etch inside my soul but merely the cherry on top of the ice cream sundae.
Then in high school I got my heart broken by an upperclassman, and after that I began to feel. I began to have a heart. And it hurt, having one, knowing that they were blissfully unaware of your tribulation, your pain, your memories. You loved, but you had no control over it, like a water bursting through the dam, like the sinking of a thousand ships caught in a swirling maelstrom, like glass shattering into half revealing the truth that hid behind it.
As the lyrics go, “Hey Siri, could you teach me how to fix my broken heart? ‘Cause no one made it stop, I just can’t get it to start.” I was broken, and thought that a significant other would help. When the truth is, all I needed was to look inside and find her, find the vulnerable yet strong girl resting inside my soul like a volcano ready to unleash its power. She’d always been there, smiling at me, when others had doubted me, laughed at me for being obsessed with the idea of love. She never wavered, always knew the answers to the questions I couldn’t look up online. She loved me, when I thought that I could never find anyone who could reciprocate my intense feelings. In a way, I have always been my own kindred spirit, my mind being a breathtaking palace of beauty and magnificence.
I remember how it was like, before the realization, to love and not be loved in return. I know many of you hold that it’s a cliche, and while I know it may be true, that was how it went.
The guy who made me feel like I might belong, in this world of strangers, happened to be one who could make every girl feel special. He was everybody’s type, easy to talk to and good with people, while I was withdrawn and insecure. He could have been good for me, might have drawn me out of my shell, and might have corresponded with me on an emotional level, but I gave up on him anyway.
The guy who reinforced the belief that I didn’t had brought up the term wandering during one conversation, somehow reassuring me that while the world was not my safe haven, it wasn’t his either, and that we were two lost souls who had found each other. I had thought that he meant we could get lost together, hand in hand, like two travelers in a foreign land. But that’s not what he meant. That’s not what he meant at all.
Hope, he told me. Then you wouldn’t feel so lonely.
But hope for what? I no longer hope for true love. Though I may be young, I have an old heart. I have cried for three boys in my lifetime, the last being the most profound, the most painful, the most raw. I can still picture that day coated in mist and fog, with snow falling all over the cab like lost little pearls of silver, words and tears tumbling out and getting carried away by the wind, and the numbness in my skin chasing away the cold. I remember the stinging pain in my heart, the sense of longing, the wanting but not having, the feeling of missing someone so much that it hurt.
I have felt the sensation of heartbreak with every fiber of my being, and I do not intend to relive it. That is why I choose to give up on true love. I convince myself I don’t need a man to make me happy and that by constructing my inner wall of serenity I can achieve self-actualization. And it works. At least, in the daytime.
But at night, when the stars are awake, I’d dream about love. I would wake up in the morning, shivering alone in my bedsheets, my mind chasing feathered wings of a broken dream.
To deal with a broken heart, I mend it using my pen as a stele and words to carve a healing rune for my heart. They say that swords, when they are broken and mended, are stronger in the mended places. Maybe hearts are the same. Maybe it is only a matter of time before I am whole again. Maybe I already am a complete version of myself.
We INFPs are sensitive souls. That’s why it’s harder for us to heal. But once we do, we become stronger than we were before. The tears we shed are no longer tears for our own loneliness but a cascading stream created by God to purify the bitterness, resentment, jealousy, fear, desire and melancholy that used to roam in our souls.
To escape solitude, you must embrace solitude. To truly get over heartbreak, you must come in terms with what you’ve experienced, in order to move on. Sensitivity is not a weakness but a strength, and heartbreaks are only train stations on your way to your destination. So if you ask me if I still believe in true love, I’d say no, but that I have discovered something much, much better than romantic love, and that is the love you offer yourself and the love from your family and friends. Hold on to the people who love you, rather than the people you’re in love with, and you will live a happier life than the girl who is caught up in her fantasy of love.
