the tragedy of our lives is our refusal to connect
(or my deep, dark pain is love)

There is something to be said when you suddenly wake up at 2 in the freaking a.m. and you get gripped by an incontrollable need to express your deepest, heartfelt feelings in 960 characters.

You know it's probably futile because, really, you've been through this, countless of times already that all those who know (and claim to know) you will say, "Isn't that over and done with several eons ago?"

But it's not. It refuses to go away, so it resurfaces again and again. To your chagrin, you suffer a little set back just when you thought you could live with the idea of just being back to plain friends--What are plain friends? Monochrome boring coffee non-intimacies? Hello, how r u, gudmrng?

You do it because you can't really deal with the fact that it ends there. You claim to be cynical and while you know there are no happier endings -- your post-structuralism theory class taught you that, and you got a 1.0 on that, dammit -- you desperately wish that when it happens to you, everything will be different.

You believe in the natural order and progression of things. A begets B, B begets C, like the way you know that Saturday follows Friday and not the other way around. We need those constants in our lives to prevent us from losing our sanity. When the numbers don't add up to fulfill the equation, we check and backtrack to see where we went wrong. We depend on numbers to behave the way they do, always constant, all rational.

You leave no room for individual eccentricities and issues, variables and margins of error. People and their various issues cannot be solved using numerical logic. Emotions are even trickier. Numbers do not flee the way people do when you become too close. Numbers are not afraid of creating intimacies. If they do, then you're not aware of it. There is a reason on why you were not a math major.

So you make a huge fool out of yourself. You are thanked for your openness, for being brave. You don't want the medal for that one, not when you own all the gold medals for backsliding. You were a person of resolve until recently, when your brain ceased and desisted all rational activity.

Bravery is for the foolhardy. Emphasis on fool.