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If you’re lucky enough, you sometimes witness moments which seem to encompass what the universe is supposed to be in its perfect, unspoiled state.

Coming home by bus today, I noticed for only a few split seconds a couple, stopped in the middle of the empty street, two lovers latching on to one another, entangled in a kiss that seemed both surprisingly innocent and sinfully sensual – the fulfillment of countless moments of dreams and desire. Can the universe be both perfectly still and in a state of perfect movement all at once? Because if it can, then the moment I witnessed from the distance and anonymity of a passing bus embodied just that.

The damned déjà-vu feeling that started haunting me sometime this spring looks like it might be turning out to be a big pile of rehashed pain, retraced steps and unresolved movements of the heart. Words that demand to be said, hurt that yearns to be soothed and an utter lack of courage. Wasted time; wasted damned chances to speak out, to be true – to yourself and to the one in front of you. Wasted opportunities to grow and to learn how two souls can be fitting pieces of the same puzzle. Time lost to insecurities that cannot be turned back or given back.

I’ve lost count of all the goodbyes I’ve heard. Last looks and embraces denying there would be no repeat to them. And through all these, I’ve come to realize you never feel more alive than when you’re in peril and you never feel more in love than when you’re heartbroken.

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