too complicated

Sometimes I wish I could read other people's mind, the way Edward the vampire could just listen to the thoughts of those surrounding him and know exactly how to react, well until he meets Bella and all the complications result precisely because suddenly he has to guess that bundle of desire and hate and love and insecurity and doubt that is hidden inside the maze of hair and facial expression and eyes and sighs.
Sometimes I wish I knew the reason behind our heart, the way it skips one beat when we see someone, the way it accelerates when we look into their eyes, the way that it cannot fake longing when everything that seemed to be cute and sweet becomes annoying. And we know that something has changed, but then, how are we supposed to know whether that change is permanent, that the excitement and laugh and silliness will never come back again the way a heart lies lifeless no matter how much pressure you exert on it again, and again, when love has died. Or, whether this is just a moment of doubt, the fear of loosing ourselves in something too peaceful to the point of monotone, but which, if let go will be so painful, it could revive again what we have forgotten in the routine of daily life.
And I remember a night so long ago, when we talked about pain, walking along the beach with the moisture of the air burning our eyes. The way we laughed soon after at our own silliness of thinking that pain will be inevitable if we plunge ourselves in this wave of emotions - the heart has forgotten its reason, abandoned its guard, setting itself up to be stabbed, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing we could do about it, except to pray.