Bratty Girl

So maybe what we had was love. Maybe I loved you, and I hope to heavens that you loved me back: even just for a split second when we held hands, or during that moment when I looked into your eyes, or the time when I laughed at one of your silly quirks. I'd be content with that idea, I'd be content that in the course of our friendship, there was a moment of mutuality; even if it was so quick I never noticed it all. “

I kept you safe within the remote areas of my consciousness, but suddenly, as if driven by an unknown force, your memory unearths itself, returning some sort of unfinished business. Consequently, I pause and I start thinking about you.

And it always left me a touch of sadness.

As far as I was concerned, I made it a point not to think about you anymore, at least not that often as I used to, in the form of preoccupation. There's a lot of work to do, friends to spend time and energy with, family affairs, television, radio. There's even a new object of affection in the rough. Works for the most part, I should say. Within the confines of my room with just my pillows before me, there is forgetting.

Just like the manner by which ice cubes freeze bacteria within their crystal networks. As long as they remain frozen, everything's safe. There is no need to worry.

But somehow, you still manage to permeate my system, as if it were an expertise or a tediously-learned skill. Moment by moment, you profusely enter my mind, filling my awareness with lost memories of once-upon-a-times and whatnots. Remembrances of holding hands, afternoon walks, lunch outs, text messages and phone calls. Of yesterday's seemingly unbreakable promises and proclamations of forever.

I should've put into mind what an old friend once wrote, 'Forever is not real'.

I have always yearned to understand what had happened between us. Us won't even suffice: it was never a real relationship to begin with. We just hung out and talked and spent time together more often than we did with our other friends and colleagues. Sometimes it pained me that I could not do anything in my power to make you speak about us.

Certainly, the ambiguity was present, the ambiguity which you never wanted to clarify.

I could only let you go on with whatever it was that you desired, whether it be ranting about your insecurities, rejoicing over happier news or lamenting about your eventful past. On the other side, I remained silent in the middle of your hyped-up emotion. I was like a child with beaming eyes, eager to hear more stories of how you came about to be the person that you are. For you once told me that listening to you gave you strength to go on, and so I did. I have always wanted you to be okay.

Yet when it was my turn to be heard, the silence was a void. I suspended my disbelief when I convinced myself that you always meant well, whenever you apologized for there was nothing you can do about my bouts of depression, or when you simplify things by saying that everything will be alright. I know I should not expect things from other people; perhaps I was at fault when I wanted more from you when you can only give so little.

You hurt me. You hurt me many, many times. You hurt me so intensely I never dared to tell you anything about it. I was a fool to think that it was a better way of dealing with things. And that, I presume to be my biggest mistake: I abandoned myself. I sought for your happiness that I forgot about mine altogether. And just like that, you vanished, very much like a soap bubble floating across air. I have watched you in complete awe, wonder and even fascination. And similar to any ethereal fleeting moment, you were gone, leaving me clueless as to whether you even existed in the first place.

So maybe what we had was love. Maybe I loved you, and I hope to heavens that you loved me back: even just for a split second when we held hands, or during that moment when I looked into your eyes, or the time when I laughed at one of your silly quirks. I'd be content with that idea, I'd be content that in the course of our friendship, there was a moment of mutuality; even if it was so quick I never noticed it all.

Perhaps I still do love you, but that won't do much now. I can fight to save everything that I've invested, but I chose not to. I have treasured you in the past, and that will be enough. Right now, all I can do is wish you well in all your endeavors, including the pursuit for the one who is right for you. When you find her, I wish she makes you happy. You make her happy as well.

The end is only a beginning disguised as a parting. I will still think about you every now and then, probably be sad once in a while, but you need not to worry. For I am okay and I will be okay under all circumstances. It may take time for me to love again, but in the long run, it will be all worth it. I may still risk myself, but every risk in its own respect is worth taking anyway. Love is such a convoluted mixture of emotions and decisions that it's a matter of working your way through it.

Thank you for gracing my life like a whirlwind, leaving me breathless and hurt, inspired and furious, affectionate and listless. You've taught me quite a lot and I learned them in the most humbling manner. Thank you for showing me what it means to be human, to commit mistakes, and to discover how to regain yourself after everything that had happened.