I once walked along the edge of a rocky beach. I was in a barefoot and I thought it was too dumb to do that. But the next day, I found myself walking in the same path at the same condition. I was still in barefoot, when the sharp of the rock surfaces hit me in each of my step.
Sometimes a pile of sand hid the rock too well so when I stepped on it, I thought nothing would happen. But I was wrong, and I did walk on it again, and again. I walked in the same path everyday.
I thought to myself on how dumb I was to repeat such mistakes.
But every time I stopped at the end of path, I smiled. I knew why I did this, what kind of thing I looked forward to.
I once assumed that beyond every pain you went through, there would be a satisfying reward you would gain. And here was my reward, right in front of me, at the end of path.
You.
How you worried about the blister in my foot, your nitpicking, and your endless whine. I found it as a satisfying action that showed how much you cared of me.
And a simple word as a 'I won't do that again' from my mouth would always triggered you to another whining.
I was hurt each time and you were always there. How was that kind of things being my own purpose to live on everyday?
Should I tell you that I already liked you?
If you asked me why, then I would say that I don't know. I just simply liked when you cared to me. I liked being the only focus in your universe. I might be selfish, but I selfishly wanted only you.
I only remembered all the good things between us. It was too weird, I was intoxicated by you.
And yet, on the next day, when I repeated such mistakes, you didn't even ignore me, you were always there for me, at the end of the road.
Was it supposed to be this hard, the path that I must go through only to be with you? Why weren't you stopped me and hugged me instead whenever I tried to walk on that path again?
Was it actually because you were enjoying how much pain that I had only to meet you there?
Were you secretly looking at a far all of my sufferings, and waiting at the end only to be the saint?
Then, I looked at you once again after feeling numb at my feet. A hint of smile in your face when you looked at me, I saw it clearly.
You liked me when I got hurt.
You liked it when you came to the rescue, acting as a hero.
I hated you.
I should hate you for this.
But then again, on the next day, I could not even bear the pain of missing you too much and I still did the stupidest thing again.
It was only to meet you, to be hurt, and to be heart-broken again.
