Poems and Pineapples

lovegoodbye


“It was my destiny to love and say goodbye.”
– Pablo Neruda –

Do you know why pineapples have many eyes?
I do. I’ve known the answer since I was six.

The reason goes back to the story
of a young girl who lived
a long, long time ago.
So once upon a time
there was a girl named Pina
who lacked the will to look
for what she hoped to find.
For her, it was much easier to accept
that something was lost for good
than make a move to bring it back.

But the truth was
she never lost anything.
What she thought to be missing
simply stayed in the place
where she last left them—
Under her bed or inside her drawers,
they were always just there
waiting for her to remember.
They were never really gone.
She only forgot
and she kept on forgetting.

One day someone wished Pina
would have many eyes
so she could see more and see better.
The next day,
she turned into a pineapple.
That’s it.
The end.
Nobody ever knew what happened next.

What a
hasty,
messy,
crazy
kind of end,
don’t you think so?
But aren’t all endings like that—
Aren’t all endings too abrupt
even them are unaware of their own arrival,
always chaotic and unforgiving—
aren’t all endings like that?
And yet
we find ways to accept them.
Because even if they are ugly,
unfortunate sometimes
make them necessary.

As a kid I loved
hearing stories about myths and legends.
Until now I do.
Not because I believed they were true
but because they gave me answers
to questions I never imagined to ask—
Questions like
Why do pineapples have many eyes?

When I grew up I still had questions
I thought I’d never have to ask.
But now myths and legends don’t know any better.
At least love did.
And “true love” for that matter.

Why was it agonizing to wait?
Because it was true love.
Why did it have a knack in breaking you?
Because it was true love.
Why did you have to let it go?
Because it was true love.

It was true love.
Was.
I’m not sure if it still is.

Someone once asked me:
Why do you write about sad love poems?
And I remember answering:
Because something still hurts.
Because after all this time
I still think about what and who I lost
which I’ll never find and get back again.

Maybe tonight I’d turn into a pineapple.
I hope someone keeps me

near all the sad love poems I wrote.

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