Hit, and Don't Run

It is easy to fall into someone, but it never been easy to heal the wound because of the fall.
It takes only a glimpse to start loving someone, takes few weeks to try to get along together, takes a few months to leave and takes few years to get through it.

Somehow I think love is like a sharp knife that cuts our hearts and souls. If the cut is done carefully and wisely, the result might be a master piece artwork. On the other hand, if it is not, and it only leaves the hearts and souls wounded for nothing but sorrow. Then the poor hearts and souls will change for ever, some learn from their pasts, some don't.

Love is a process I guess. Well you don't have to agree with me. It is like a piece of wood that turns to be an artistic wooden carving by the effort of an artist. An artist may take years and years to learn how to cut, carve, shape, paint and so and so before she or he can produce any wonderful carvings. Before the artist is skillful enough to carve a piece of wood and makes it to be a nice carving, she or he might need thousand pieces of woods, then throw them away. An artist might have cut his/her own hands, both during learning and making processes, but then it is worthy. Without this effort our artist will never be able to produce any single artistic piece of works.

Well, so it is fine to do mistakes, as long as we learn from our mistakes, like the artist above. Just then my naughty mind questions me, how to differentiate between persistent and don't know when to quit (oh yes, knowing when to quit is important I guess). How if I wasn't born to be a carpenter? How if I wasn't born to be a musician? How if I wasn't born to be a dancer? How if I wasn't born to be with him? When should I quit and face the truth?

Then…another naughty toying question is…what about those thousand pieces of woods? Has anyone asked how they feel? They are cut, scratched, hammered and so on, then they turn to be nothing but trash. They do nothing but helping someone to produce a masterpiece, and no one remembers them.

Requiem for "the losers" who are forgotten by the history.