Love is involuntary. You could never choose the person you will come to love, and no matter how crazy things get, you still can find that light shining somewhere deep in that person’s eyes.
Pain, however, is always self-inflicted. You can never choose the person you will come to love but you always have the option to turn your back on them the moment you know it will lead you nowhere.
But like most of you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I am a martyr, a masochist even (perhaps).
Love demands to be felt and I’ve had the option to turn it away on the day it knocked on my doors but I did not. It was as if I have personally chosen my weapon of self-infliction.
I’ve let it in, even took care of it, hoping it would never leave. But as sure as the moon follows the sun, I know it will be gone and in the most beautifully painful way possible.
And my love for that person is like the sun slowly rising through the break of dawn, filling the dark with beautiful hues of light; it brings with it the scorch of heat that will leave me parched.
But for a while allow me to bask in its morning breeze, allow me to feel the heat.
For love may be involuntary but pain is a choice that demands to be felt. Allow me to drown in its light one more time. Allow me to entertain a love that is never meant to be mine.
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this is my martyr mantra.