It has been 6 long months. You are there, and I’m still here.
It’s a secret: Nights are the hardest times. It’s when I am alone, without friends’ voices in the background, without comforting rain on my face that I remember you. It’s when I am alone with the truth.
How can I deny that I still think about you? How can I get away from the habit of just holding your hand whenever I feel like it, or watching the stars and city lights with you – our secret Antipolo?
How can I start teaching myself that you and I are the opposite sides of a thread, of a line, opposite poles of a magnet, and of everything else that are opposites in this world?
I wish I did not waste every moment I could get to hold your hand, smile for you, and stare at you like we are sharing a private world, a happy secret that only the two of us could understand.
I am sure. You had that tone in your decision that makes it so sure. A tone of finality – like a period in a sentence and the end of every story, or in our case, a fairytale.
Between the two of us, I lost more. And this morning, I was remembering the dream of the night – I know I cannot have moments like those again. I wonder if you ever think about me, too. But I figure you are getting better at this than I am, the forgetting of me, of everything.
And now, you and me – continuously floating on different ends of this universe.
PS. On Christmas, I will remember you. It will be a first after 3 years that I am not with you, and you are not with me.