Over the years she can feel their comfort zones shifting closer and closer that the tip of one touches with the other; overlapping but comfortably, providing them with enough space upon which their world is built. It is a world that accommodates the most random combination of things. From hip-hop beats to stationery, bloody movies to cheese-dripping rom-coms, the most serious talks to the silliest facial expressions. Unlikely characteristics collide, forming a new zone of comfort for two.
It was supposed to be this dream come true, all that they have. Like that perfect pair of blue jeans she could wear out every single day. Even the occasional quarrel was lovely, because he was smart and she needed a smart man to understand her often complicated ways of thinking, if not over-thinking.
But comfort zones. Oh comfort zones. The thought of comfort made her restless. It induced discomfort more than anything, caused her to fidget whenever her heart gets warm and whenever she feels it melt just a little inside. She wanted to do what everyone does; walk away from comfort and venture into deeper seas, embrace the unfamiliar, expose her skin to the sun that shines upon foreign grounds, and engage in brief but life-changing encounters with the strangest people. The possibilities that knock at the door when seeing the world as too large of a place for one to remain in one small comfortable zone, it enticed her. She must go sightseeing and take on an adventure, wherever that may lead her. As long as a healthy detachment from comfort was maintained.
Comfort, she made herself believe, is something that is never meant to be fully embraced, but instead acts as a gentle reminder to remain vigilant. Comfort was a warning and her head a constant battlefield where fights are fought not for the good and the bad, but for today and against tomorrow. She wondered one night, during that blissful half-conscious moments just minutes before falling asleep, what tomorrow had done to be so deeply perceived as the villain. She slept that night counting the number of yesterdays that could have affected her more significantly than she knew.
That night a few questions lingered in her dreams; if comfort zones are not to be made the purpose of one's living, then what is? How does one know when to stop taking pride in violent fights and put a complete end to a war? Would her defense wear out? It was in the context of her fighting him, her comfort zone, defending her today from tomorrow.
It was supposed to be this dream come true, all that they have. Like that perfect pair of blue jeans she could wear out every single day. Even the occasional quarrel was lovely, because he was smart and she needed a smart man to understand her often complicated ways of thinking, if not over-thinking.
But comfort zones. Oh comfort zones. The thought of comfort made her restless. It induced discomfort more than anything, caused her to fidget whenever her heart gets warm and whenever she feels it melt just a little inside. She wanted to do what everyone does; walk away from comfort and venture into deeper seas, embrace the unfamiliar, expose her skin to the sun that shines upon foreign grounds, and engage in brief but life-changing encounters with the strangest people. The possibilities that knock at the door when seeing the world as too large of a place for one to remain in one small comfortable zone, it enticed her. She must go sightseeing and take on an adventure, wherever that may lead her. As long as a healthy detachment from comfort was maintained.
Comfort, she made herself believe, is something that is never meant to be fully embraced, but instead acts as a gentle reminder to remain vigilant. Comfort was a warning and her head a constant battlefield where fights are fought not for the good and the bad, but for today and against tomorrow. She wondered one night, during that blissful half-conscious moments just minutes before falling asleep, what tomorrow had done to be so deeply perceived as the villain. She slept that night counting the number of yesterdays that could have affected her more significantly than she knew.
That night a few questions lingered in her dreams; if comfort zones are not to be made the purpose of one's living, then what is? How does one know when to stop taking pride in violent fights and put a complete end to a war? Would her defense wear out? It was in the context of her fighting him, her comfort zone, defending her today from tomorrow.
***
But as I write this, I imagined myself being on both ends of the fight, while you watched by the sidelines as a rather clueless spectator. Could this have been it all along? A fight against nobody else but my own over-thinking shadow? Me allowing myself to take part only in beautiful pieces, fragments, and forever be blocking every chance I get to experience the real thing as a whole?
Maybe I should give this a chance. Me. You. Us. No?
But as I write this, I imagined myself being on both ends of the fight, while you watched by the sidelines as a rather clueless spectator. Could this have been it all along? A fight against nobody else but my own over-thinking shadow? Me allowing myself to take part only in beautiful pieces, fragments, and forever be blocking every chance I get to experience the real thing as a whole?
Maybe I should give this a chance. Me. You. Us. No?
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