When a flower forgets how to bloom

The first time I found love, I was careless. I've been so wrapped up with how the books and dramas portray something so profound, I mistook it like a blooming flower that can easily fit into my palms. If only I had known that I was barely touching the sky but that day, it felt like I stepped into the universe. The feeling was so strong it reverberates through every part me; in my dreams, in my wandering thoughts, in my inner world.

I thought love was the aching want of holding someone close, the ragged breaths that make you feel alive, and the tingling sensation of every touch. For an instant, everything is unbelievably magical I almost believed a fairy tale like this could come true. It was a whirlwind of changing seasons—one moment everything was a fluttering touch of spring grass then, a few seconds later, the winter will creep in the guise of beautiful autumn.

It felt like delicious goosebumps stirring on my veins, giving me adrenaline for what was about to come. And I never thought, I was preparing for a heartbreak. That's when I learned love is a garden we water with tears for flowers to blossom; that to love means to be rain. That's when I knew, I gave my whole to the wrong person and that whoever will come after will have to deal with a broken soul.

I gave away all my heartbeats to someone that is just meant to teach me pain. What am I supposed to do when the right one comes along and I don't know how to love anymore?