Chance Encounter

Tonight I allow myself to grieve.

I feel like it has been lifetimes since we met. When was the last time I thought about you? When was the last time you thought of me?

Lifetimes— yet there are days when I still can’t fathom just what happened, days where I can’t seem to comprehend those tumultuous four months. There are days, where I still ask questions and stubbornly look for answers, going through every moment, overturning every message, dissecting every memory I have, as if by some miracle— maybe the 6th time I replay it I’ll find something, anything to explain why. Nothing. Each time I find nothing but the silence of my own thoughts. Each time I find the same moment, the same message, and the same memory etched at the back of my head, unchanging, disdainful.

On the best days, I can easily shrug the entire thing as sheer incompatibility, a misguided trial of ennui and desire. A game of cat and mouse where this time, I was the mouse. I’ve always put myself in the position of advantage but this one was just a gamble that I lost. And the usual words and phrases come up like “there are so much people out there,” “you’re young, you’ll meet someone else,” “it’s okay, the world is your oyster, di mo yan kailangan.” On those days, I agree and think to myself, I’m absolutely right. I deserve better. I can do better. I’ll be better. Yada-yada. And for a moment, I believe it.

On the worst days, I still think it’s my fault, that I could have done better. I still think that maybe what I asked for was too much, that maybe I was not enough. Or that maybe I wasn’t understanding. On those days, the sheer weight of my thoughts are chained to my wrists and ankles, jangling with the memories I would rather keep forgotten. I am heavy and every movement I make creates marks where the cold, unforgiving metal scratch against hard reality.

Lifetimes— I have been vacillating between these lifetimes, the good ones where I don’t spare a moment and the bad ones where the first thing I think of in the morning is you.

When I saw you tonight, on one random evening, walking to my direction but not toward me, I felt as if all those lifetimes were crushed into one single moment. Every bone in my body whistled with excitement and anticipation.

And in an instant, almost too short to bear, I was already ahead of you and you behind me. We passed each other, our eyes never meeting.

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10.5.24.7.12

You confuse me, you, evanescent being, you. I constantly juggle my desire to please you and my desire to please myself. When I spend time with you, it’s wildd. You’re really funny but like anyone I’ve ever come into contact with, it starts to get exasperating to be with you. I don’t know why but there’s always a limit –an expiration date if you will. It’s not like I want it to happen, but something hits along the way and shifts the equilibrium. My friendships start with inexpressible delight and ends in a whirlwind of exhaustion.

Am I sick of you? I wonder. But whenever I think of not spending time with you, I get this weird feeling of regret. It’s like I want to be there every time. And it’s freaking me out and tiring me down. I don’t want to have any complications because that’s basically what life is: one giant complication. I’d rather save all the drama for sometime that warrants it. And friendship is not one of them.

To be frank, you’re inexplicable. No matter how much I want to kill you for ignoring me, no matter how much I want to call quits, I freaking can’t. And that bothers me. How did you warrant so much affection?

To make matters worse, you are abusive. You know I like you. You know I am extremely giving and despite this –nay– because of this, you abuse me. And the funny thing is I am almost blind to the fact. Almost. Here is where my feeling of underappreciation lies. Why oh why do I stick around when I know you wouldn’t do the same. Am I martyr? Am I saint? Or am I simply foolish? I know my nature is to give. But there’s got to be a point when my arms will tire from reaching and my heart will tire from reasoning.

But like always, I have to keep it all under my bed. Sweep the floors, don’t let any dust show. Keep it all tucked neatly and presentably. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.