In the beginning, I never want to let go, even if you refuse to admit this out loud. You decide to keep it safe. A secret between myself and whatever you believe in. If I hold on, I still have it right? If I hold on, something still exists, right? I feel for him in the night. Remember he is not there.
I was strolling in the night market where we had our first date, walked pass a store and suddenly a strong memory came flashing in front of your eyes, I thought of texting him. I go so far as to pulling out my phone and looking for his name. But, I stop; put it down, and decides to continue walking down the night market. This does not have to be his, This could be mine too.
After days and weeks of wishing for his text, a text came in, everything inside got set ablaze. I try to speak, but it’s all forest fires, I try to respond, but my fingertips are smoke. I responded to his message and there is no response. Soon, I realize his reaching out was an accident message. It was not out of love or missing or serendipitous fate. I was just an accident. I cry. I cry a lot.
I cry for what we were and what you thought we could have. I cry for him, how much I wanted him and what I could give. I cry for broken promises and futures that will not be realized. But mostly, I cry for myself.
It’s another night and you find yourself strolling in the same night market, I thought of him again, but this time the hand doesn’t reach for the phone. It reaches somewhere else this time. I took a deep breather and remember how much I’ve lived without him. There’s an orange moon in the sky, and you hope he’s happy. I hope he sees it, but we know deep inside there’s no need to tell him. You stood infront of the mirror and smile, looks like we both survived another shitty heartbreak.
I tell myself this is just another chapter, and my book isn’t close to being done. I remind myself, by the end, who even remembers the first few chapters anyway.