It’s like that 10-year old puzzle you found in the attic. The one kept underneath the stack of books and classic literature your grandma used to read.
The one with stains that reeks various smells and odors on its carton box. The one that had no printed image of the end portrait you’ll try to assemble. The one that was mysterious. The one that was thrilling.
The one you know you’d probably never have a chance.
But, just like that time, you were courageous.
You ate all that bullshit from the news, magazines, books, peers, and families; there’s no harm in trying. You were an idealist; things will go your way in the end.
You were a believer; of hopes, of good endings.
But, just like that time, you were naive; that things will be bestowed on those who gave her all, who struggled, who sticks to their virtue, who doesn’t give up.
So you’d collect the pieces, all 3000 of them. All with the vague nuances of blue and white, of green and dark-brown, of black and blue.
You’d lay those little pieces in front of you. You’d know how complex this is going to be. You’d know that it ain’t going to be easy. But you’ll continue.
You’d start off by finding the corners; where are the limits. You’d try to fill out the outer edges, try to find a general idea of what you’re trying to fill in. But so far, that’s what you’ll see; the tip of the iceberg. And you begin to see it go somewhere.
Your imagination paints a blueprint out for you; a hill, a barn, the sky, beautiful scenery. So you’ll continue.
You’ll start filling in the rest of the picture. you’ll desperately try to find the pieces you’re missing, the ones the puzzle demands. And you’ll frustrate yourself to search for that one piece.
For only if you find that piece you can continue. You’d scramble the other 3000 pieces, little by little, you’ll turn it into a mess. It’ll scatter on the floor, all around. And as you continue to fill in the picture, you’ll have a harder time to gather the pieces up. But you’ll continue.
Time will fly. It will fly real fast. But you were going somewhere, you were just getting there. Just a little more. So you’ll continue.
And just like that time, in the end, after the last pieces were put into place, after everything you placed fit together nicely after you filled in every hole, after you struggled and matched everything, it wasn’t a hill, a barn, the sky, and beautiful scenery, it was the sea. It wasn’t like anything that you pictured it to be. It was a vast, dark blue ocean, a shoreline, with a girl setting sail to the yonder. There was nothing else. It was just the sea, with a lone sailor.
It was nothing like what you pictured it to be.
And that’s love.
Sometimes, you’d find someone, and struggle for her. Sometimes you know you’d have no chance, but you’d fight for her. Sometimes you’ll do everything just the way it was supposed to be done. You’d have the right pieces and spend days and months placing it up perfectly, slowly, eagerly. And in the end, you’d succeed, you’d put them in the right places, all in the right order.
But sometimes, it just isn’t as you hoped it would be. It isn’t as beautiful. It isn’t as mesmerizing. It isn’t as sweet.
Sometimes, it just doesn’t work out.