Broken Hearts

Cloud never knew true love. He never knew about the kind of love that wasn't already experienced by the muggles in the sea of muggles. He could love someone, and maybe be loved back, but he never had the type of love where he would give up everything for, his pride, his will, his gut, his life. Well, he would risk his life for anyone honourable and, perhaps, that has, in a way, diluted his sense of importance that would, otherwise, be kept only for the ones who matter more than the others.

Love is not a type of control and order humans are comfortable and secure with. It is often as flickering as a dancing ember, meandering as a river valley and fickle as the emotions of an adolescent.

Cloud could love a person, such as Tifa, but this kind of love is a mutual intertwine of responsibility, loyalty and friendship. Romance could only pepper a bowl of emotions and the machine that dictates a person's choice. Thus, even as he loved, he felt like he had a broken heart. It was never enough. Was "it" referring to love, sex, marriage, security or anything that mattered to some? No, "it" was just it. There was no definition, no explanation and no elaboration that could really tell us the inner workings of the human experience.

I wish I could separate the distractions and important things apart and delete the distractions, but sadly, the organisations that have blended into our daily lives are always associating peripheral wants with "close-to-heart" enablings that matter to us. It's like a utopia strapped on your head to prevent you from wanting anything else, from knowing anything else. The rest of world wrapped around the fingers of the chameleon-like trap may be blissfully unaware of a sinister cycle of becoming, and maybe even good for them, but I do not want to be a part of this world..

Would I let distractions numb me, or do I give love another chance? The yadda continues. An emotionally led James is evidence that broken heart works like a wild bumping pinball but it does continue. The sides are cracked, the heart is bruised and bleeds even as sorrow consumes it bit by bit. But it is still held together by glue that cannot be seen, tape that cannot be touched, love that cannot be measured.

Put simply, a walking miracle; a bearer of a broken heart.

Discontinuity (Tentative)

The things that mattered so much in the past doesn't seem to matter anymore. Things that i take pride in seem to be covered by piles and piles of lies, deceit, hate and the normalcy towards attitudes enabling this situation is appalling. No longer is the simple heart prized as in an old fairy tale, it is now an era of deception to distract us from what is important, which is living a good life, not a wealthy one, not a glamourous one, but a self-fulfilling one.

Why can't people of different personalities be treated the same way as people of different religion? Society and its ethics are now the sleazes of infamy. Deception is king in a world of greed. Or so governments, institutions that my country holds dear tells me. The technologies reaped are never going to be equally shared, and a reality of a jarring class divergence is really just a providence pending.

Love is scarce in this world. I still neglect some warm love because exploitation of anything beautiful or anyone wonderful is just not my style, but society beseeches us to exploit, to use, to make full use of anything we see, touch, hear and not let our needs dictate our actions. Sooner or later, we are going to exploit every resource left just so as to prevent another person from exploiting, or just so that we can protect our human nature; greed. And then we will see the futility of our meaningless and sad lives as ugly humans with a pretty outer cast, but a hollow and empty heart that only exploits, not love, not care, not anything but a greed that poisons us as we poison others.

Another man in a sea of men

He had no wings. He wore no smile. His feet were feet and his shine was dull. He was not the picturesque illusion people put them out as. He was just a person of a pure heart, a kind heart and a loving soul. His smile had been eroded away by the apathy the world shares with him but his heart remained a resolute tank that would not falter. Or it seems that way..

The man with blue eyes wore a tattered crimson cloak not for a warm cuddle, but for, surprisingly, the a tinge of mystery. You could see that he was a jovial guy when he was himself, because of the things he did. He took the little moments of sweet normalcy and added spice to it with a slick touch. His hands wore jet black gloves which went great with a thick bandanna wrapped around his forehead bearing a shade of brown. A rugged thug, typical yet easy on the eyes.

"We give you a bang for your buck, mister, monsieur, mystico," smarted the bald patched man with a smile, and a tummy to go with a full face. The beads of fortune, the crafts of a decently obscure blacksmith and a few assorted accessories were laid out on a make shift table, and at first, Vincent saw nothing that went with his wandering mind. It was then, an exquisite shine of a glittering blood red stone buried inside the tsunami of items arrested his attention. It was a Materia.. A Materia bearing the blood of the Lifestream.

A rare Bahamut for the beholder of said rune.

"This will go with my collections", said the red man. With a pinch of haggling, an ounce of bickering and a tinge of gold to go along with a lucky sword paid upfront, the gem was safely slotted into the man's coat pocket. A satisfied Vincent smiled tiredly at the glistening eyes of a happy-go-lucky trader and was soon on his way.

"Items of fortune for your choice and wants" gushed the jiggly man.. His bellowing grew softer and softer as the angel drifted further and further away from the black market of Tam Pai.