How? Why?
Well over three years have come to pass now. The last time we spoke (over six or seven
months ago) you spat on the remnants of friendship we had left to salvage;
what’s worse is that your actions were not warranted by anything that I had said
or done to you. If at all, I was such an optimist in our fading interactivity. And
somehow, even till this day, I would still drop all the others – each and every
single last one of them…
For you.
Drop them
all, the way you dropped me, 1186 days ago.
You should
bear no significance to me at this point. But I find that you may still very
well hold the potential to be the most significant, if ever granted another
opportunity at the word “GO.”
And I’m
repulsed. Pathetic, even. Truly insane - textbook definition.
And you are
heartless.
As the years
have lapsed, I’ve watched from the sidelines as you have continued to morph
into the person you told me you’d never be. Funny, though I should know better.
I don’t know you at all anymore.
So what am I
even saying? Why lament? Why care? Why fucking bother? You’re not worth it.
“He’s not worth it.” You were never worth it.
“He’s the
one missing out. It’s his loss.”
When in
reality, he couldn’t give two shits.
So why do I
continue to feel like the one that lost something?
I am
cognizant that in life, there are moments when we are impelled to let go and
press on. And though I walk confidently in the direction opposite you, often
times I look back. I keep taking steps farther and farther away from you. But I
always look back.
Maybe my
emotions just conjure up the better of me. Maybe I’m a desperate fool for
looking at you through the lenses of my 19-year-old eyes, heedful that you could
never be that person again. And as luxuriant as my imagination can be, I can’t
find the rewind button on this remote.
But even
just for one day, I would do it all over again. I’d “give it one more chance,
just like the time before. But he already knows I’d give a hundred more. Until
that night in bed, I wake up in a sweat. I’m racing to the door. Can’t take it
anymore.”
“Yes, I was
burned but I called it a Lesson Learned.”
Hold it
against me. I can’t rid my conscience of you. And there still has not been any
remote congruency in my heartbeat for any other boy since. But you, you know
me. I suppose if there has been one constant in the story of you and me, it has
been none other than myself, right? It had to be one of us, right?
Right?
Assure me,
because I have been left with the short end of the stick, fending against my own self in a battle of memories and emotions you’ve long withdrawn from.
It’s really
not even a matter of tarnished feelings for you that linger in the recesses of
my heart. I conjecture that living here in this big ole’ city for a little over
a year now (with you not too far away from me) has pried open a part of me that
I refused to expose. It’s rendered me exponentially pensive and reminded me
that what we had over three years ago still has not been duplicated. Boys come and
go. Replace one with another.
For reasons
known and unknown, you remain THE boy that came and went. THE one I perhaps
could never replace. THE one that got away…
And I am
uncertain if I’ll ever forgive you for it.
Happy (belated)
23rd, Uno. Maybe in another life, you could very well have been mine
tonight…
