I thought it will begin again on the train, or when I turn the corner, or wherever it sounds fate-like. But maybe no, maybe it should begin again artificially way, involving algorithm and a rather harsh process of target selection and due diligence. But then, will I let a sentimental fool who knew nothing about life, judge a levelheaded grown up who’s willing to learn how to compromise and sensibly care about another grown up? No, I will not.
And because, I can tell how I love the perfect imperfection of this process. I love how this not only magically allows me to feel a tad bit of that rush, thrill, and excitement — a blush on the cheeks; but also (and most importantly) how natural I’ve come to learn to embrace a whole new package of the other end, how composed I’ve managed every time alarm goes off in my head, how I finally feel like I deserve to take and comfortable to give back those affectionate gestures. Because I can tell, beyond healing me, this grows me.
And perchance, this happens on account of the other end who makes me feel like it’s enough to be just me, who makes me want to freeze that moment when I was brought into his world, when I could easily say what’s past is past, when I saw his back again after merely a moon cycle. The other end who makes me feel like I’m ready to begin again.