Pass the Baton

      I realized while I was in the restroom washing my clothes that love is very much like a relay—yes, those guys who are passing on the baton to win the race. I don’t really know how I came to this conclusion and maybe I’ll be forcing it a bit, but try and listen.

I’ve given up way too many guys for the happiness of my friends and for their own happiness, and I used to joke that I was a recycle bin for after they throw ‘them’ away, I would pick them up and care for it, and when they want it back, I would willingly ‘restore’ them in their proper ‘places.’ I have passed on the baton far too many times to be able to win the relay, and I’ve always wondered if I could have just not given it up… if I could still have won the guy’s heart in the end.

I always end up losing myself.

But I’d rather not dwell on what ifs.

I was hurt, yes, when I gave them up, but I also know it was for the better. I knew they would be better off without me—or they’re better off if they weren’t with me. Not that they loved me the way I wanted them to. A friend of mine used to tell me that I was “always the best friend, never the girlfriend,” and I have always fitted that role for such a long time that guys treat me always as their barkada or little sister, and I fall in love with them and get nothing but friendly-friends love in return.

Funny how passing it off would do you bad.

It wouldn’t win the race for you all the time, for you are letting another person take on the responsibility of winning the race instead of winning it yourself.

What if you drop the baton in the middle of passing it on?

Who picks it up first?

I usually do the picking up part, and the brushing off the next in line would do.

They reap what I sow.

Damn it. What a martyr.

Pathetic me.

“Back then I kept saying that I didn’t want to fall in love ever again. However, no matter how hard and painful it was, I wanted to live that dream again, I wanted to love someone deeply.”