im no sadist but there are times i have to admit that i understand how people find pleasure in pain. be it exfoliating facial washes (ha) that i am strangely drawn to, or the dull ache in my legs after what might thus seem like a fruitful exercise, pain,or any sense of physical discomfort, has subconsciously become my measure for fulfilling a particular task. it is as though that sensation added that extra dimension to shift something from the imagined realm to the reality. my face isnt really clean unless i allowed those sea salt beads sandpaper my pimples away(or so i was convinced to believe) and i hadnt really exercised unless my feet can move no longer.

then i realised, on the bus home one day, that such reasoning, however irrational, was not merely confined to the more frivolous aspects in my life.

perhaps, because of this, i find myself unwittingly convincing myself that if unless my heart hurt, i haven't truely loved anyone enough. it's almost silly, bordering even on cliched-ness, love shouldnt ever be measured by hurt.

but from another perspective, pain is a symptom of love, for if you hadnt taken your heart out and given it to someone else, then it couldnt possibly get lost or manipulated in the first place.