I wasn’t really there when it happened: the tsunami, the wrecking of my world. Now I’m basking in my remorse, living in the ruins —
I almost made a promise to myself to never write about you anymore. Almost. Maybe because I knew since the beginning that I wouldn’t be able to fulfill that promise for myself. Maybe because I knew a lot of my words were still yours, and that they shall go where they should be eventually. I’m aching now — I hate thinking about all the could, should, would have been’s — I hate thinking about the kind of life that would have existed if we were together. We had the chance. I ran away because I was, have always been, fearful. I didn’t let you in.
I will retell the same story over and over again in the future, to younger people who might share my blood and flesh. There was a man. I did not dare to call it love. I was too fearful. I will laugh while I talk, thinking of the things we could’ve done better. I’m at fault. You are too. We’ve forgiven each other, and yet my mind lingers. Do not fear too much. Love is one courageous thing. Be brave. I will tell them that. I will not let them have the same regrets as I do. I will not let them suffocate the same way I do.
A lot of times I wonder if you’ve ever thought about me — in your waking, or a moment before you’re deep into slumber. Unfortunately that’s what I’m the best at: wondering, wondering, wondering. I’m a writer — I’m always thinking, constructing alternative realities in my head. There is something too strong coming from you, all the way down my life, something I cannot find a shelter from, something I cannot escape. Something too fateful, too unavoidable. Every time you stare at my eyes I feel small–this is what it’s like to be known–and oh was I scared. You’ve always had it easy: decoding me, navigating through the depths of my mind, because every time we talk you always seem to know what I’m thinking.
We are a lot more alike than I like to admit, and it only occurred to me now that everything is bigger than I thought. I hate having regrets. I hate it more now especially when I realise that my regrets happen to have your name. I will apologise again now: I’m sorry I was too fearful. Sorry I threw away the door key and left you outside. Sorry I didn’t dare to call it what it was.
