It’s that time of the year again, at the same place. I am looking at the same fairy lights wrapped around the same bushes. The people are different, the music is different, but it’s that same feel, the same atmosphere. The only thing missing is you. Beside me.
But I remember that day, so clearly, memories flitting like distinct photographs in my mind. Me, browsing through random books in a bookstore, scanning through the sentences yet not quite seeing them, acutely aware of you standing behind me, ready to tap my shoulder and surprise me. Us, walking in front of the restaurants, deciding where to eat. Me, in a dress, so unlike me, and you, in pants and a shirt and in shoes that are so distinctly you. And us, sitting on a bench not far from where I’m standing right now, surrounded by the fairy lights and the people who are unaware of the two people who might have possibly been in the process of falling in love, there, on that spot, exactly a year ago.
Or perhaps the term falling in love is only true in my imaginative mind. But whatever it was, there, it was something. I felt it then, and felt it again the night you touched me and I knew I was home without even knowing what home was. And I thought it could be something more. I believed in chances, and we had a lot. So much that I thought it could be enough. But, apparently, they weren’t.
And so I am standing here with nostalgia and something akin to bittersweetness coursing through my veins, and I ask myself, do I miss you? Yes, a small part of me answers. I miss the boy who is deathly afraid of fireworks and dreams of having a little sister he never had. I miss the boy who watched the movie with me and let me grip his arm through all the intense fight scenes. I miss the boy who stayed up with me on the phone until 3 AM, talking of everything and anything, sometimes just basking in comfortable silence. I miss the boy who told me everything about him, all of him, his deepest, darkest secrets and everything in between. I miss him.
But I wish I didn’t miss another version of that boy, the one who taught me scary and exciting things, who held me in the dark and whispered to me as I shivered in the cold air. The one who did all the things he knew he had the chance to do before but never did until that night as he held my gaze with those intensely dark eyes. His smell, the smell that haunted me long after that night, in my conscious and subconscious mind, the way he would keep his eyes open as he leaned in for a kiss. But I do.
For the hundredth time I wish that the only things I missed are the things I knew of you before we complicated things, back when we were friends who were afraid to hold each others’ hands. Because those are the easier memories. I want to forget the rest, the memory of you kissing me, of the darkness and the intensity and the sparks, because those are harder to forget, to erase. Those are the memories that override the other ones and swirl them into a dark abyss, twisting your image in my mind forever. I wish I could push the memories I wish I didn’t miss but do away and leave the good ones behind, the ones I let go to waste because I was silly enough to think that what was between us, on that bench, in the middle of fairy lights, could’ve been something like falling in love.
But that is done and cannot be undone and I turn my back on the merry scene before me, wishing for another beginning, somewhere else, where I could start over and forget the unfortunate chapter in my life that all began here.
The real story of how he stole the Declaration of Independence
loving you in my sleep
and waking up alone.
Watercolor on illustration board. I was inspired this afternoon. Okay.
I am just like any other person—I have fears, doubts, insecurities. I am an overthinker. I am selfish, weak, and stubborn; I easily get riled up and get myself tangled up in my emotions. And in a relationship, all these qualities get magnified tenfold.
But with you, I’m better. I want to be better, and I know I will be. I don’t know, but maybe it’s the way you hold my hand, or kiss my temple when I get mad, make silly faces to me or the comfortable silences we share, that makes me feel as if this is all so…right. All my worries, qualms, and doubts quiet down with you. Maybe I shouldn’t say this at such an early stage—I’ve been through a lot of stuff like this and I am in no position to even assume that this will last. But then again, I feel like I’ve practically known you my whole life. Like we broke up years ago just to find ourselves and come back to each other again.
I don’t know where this road leads to, but I sure know that I’m going to enjoy every step of this story with you.
It’s an early night for us. Hello kay ateng nakatambay sa likod, congrats, artista na ‘yung likod mo. HAHAHAHAHA. Ito ang gawain ng mga batang walang internet sa dorm, maki-kurakot muna ng internet sa Ministop. Mehehe. Goodnight! :)
The most conyo, maarte, bipolar, sabaw and the sweetest alaga any yaya could ask for. Kasing kapal ng kilay nito ang kakulitan niya. Implusive spender. Moody. Pero I guarantee you—this guy is one of the most kick-ass friends you could ever have.
Happy birthday Bebe Boy! Medyo mahaba pa kesa sa listahan ng utang sa suking tindahan ang lahat ng dapat kong -‘thank you’ sayo. Pero to top it all off: thank you for being one of my closest friends. Okay, fine, here goes the cheesy line…I’m actually proud to be your yaya. (You’re welcome. Pwede ka nang ma-teary-eyed ng slight.) If ever atakihin ka nanaman ng pagka manic-depressive mo, alam mong andito lang ako for you, 25/7. (Tama na, baka maiyak ka na talaga eh.)
Single and available ‘to! Landiin niyo na! HAHAHA. Sa mga nagkaka-crush at interesado sa gagong ‘to, you may hand in your application forms and resumes to me. You will be scheduled for interview. For more info, paki-contact nalang ako. Chos.
Love, Yaya. :>
So this is what it feels like. To be so happy and completely into it that I can’t even put what I’m feeling into words.
I’m not complaining, mind you. I’m speechless with joy.
Candle light vigil for Cory Monteith at Paramount Studios in Los Angeles, July 14, 2013.Please credit if used elsewhere.