This time around, I could’ve had the perfect words for you. This time around, I would’ve thought you were the One. And here I am, standing still, wondering whether I’m sticking by that assumption or feeling myself break away slowly from it. If I were to walk away from everything we had, under some rule where I’d lose a part of myself if I did turn around and see, would it be worth losing a big part of myself to hold onto that? Would it be worth looking back, knowing that all I’d see would be nothing but white if I look straight ahead?
You were someone I still held onto for most of my life, not because I wanted to but because we had this whole history between us (classically one-sided, of course– sigh, me with the sentiments again) and that’s something I wish I could erase but I instead carry. I held onto you and you were a really big part of me, and big parts are something you just can’t rip off and throw away. You have to slowly break it apart ‘til you find a core that’s actually been rotting for quite some time, and you still pretend to see its effervescent freshness when it’s already been way past its expiration date.
We live in different time zones, you and I. Don’t deny we don’t, we do. Even if we live in the same country, wake up to the same morning and bid goodnight to the same evening, it’s like we live in different countries. I wake up to words from you and you bid goodnight when I was about to give you my own words. And once again, I’m left hanging, as if a conversation I purposefully loaded with questions to imply unfinished business could throw you off just a tad. But no, you thought wrong.
I lied when I said I moved on. I lied when I said that I never cared for you that much, the way I did four years ago when I told you those very words. I told you everything, holding back tears and embarrassment for fear that you will slink away into your comfort zone and forget it all happened. No way. I bet you never forgot, you just told yourself to. Well, your mind works differently, I’m afraid. You can’t just wish significance to go away. It’s a purpose all on its own. It reminds you at random times in your life, and you walk in and walk out most of the time anyway, so how is it possible not to hold onto you?
But here’s a line. I’m tired of telling the same story to my friends, watching their faces slowly somber up but secretly wishing me to move past all this, that this all happened. There’s nothing you can do about it, and I do want to push that there is something else but all I have are the remnants of a past I should have– I have thrown away. Believe me, it’s harder when I put you on a pedestal so high I can’t even see you for who you are anymore. You’ve no longer become a person I knew just for you but I hated the real you because you’re not the real one inside my head.
And not just that, you and I have nothing to look forward to– at all. God, it’s hard to say it but it’s true. I haven’t truly moved on because I’m still clinging onto your archives, the things I had with you. I could give you this: you are perfection to me. You really are, and you deserve someone who’s willing to see you the way I did. You will always be that way, the almost perfect standard to the dream guy I standardised everyone to. You are the only one who almost lived up to it, but just like him, you keep me stunted. Is it possible for perfection to deteriorate a person? It’s not your fault, I know. I return to you because you’re a safe zone, okay? You’re someone I secretly wish would not move on yet so that we’d be stagnant together and somehow settle instead of search.
I know at some point I’d hate myself for writing this but this is the cold, hard truth– the only truth to you that I will ever write, believe me. And I know that I’m going to return to you again, but maybe a little less whole than before. Unlike the others where I can just rip them off as easily as Band-aids, I have broken you apart slowly, chiseling at this part of me that holds on to you. Believe me, I’d want to see you at the end of the path I’m taking, but frankly, I don’t. And it sucks bad, but it’s what it is, I guess.