Tuesday, May 17, 2016



It was just a normal day; you’re doing whatever the hands of fate have strung your way, and asked you to do.

It was a normal day—and it still is, but you couldn’t get that photo out of your head. That photo that a certain website reminded you of; a photo of years gone by, spent with people you no longer talk to.

You wonder how he’s doing—that old friend who had your back and nursed your wounds years ago, back when you were spiraling out of control. That friend who was there for you when you felt you had no one else—even if you actually had. Well, it didn’t matter, because he was the best of the rest of them. Head on his shoulders, your hand in his—you felt like everything was possible. That if someone could feel safe and secure, it was within his arms, and with his heart.

You remember car rides with him, your hair flowing in the wind; wondering how it would be like to watch fireworks in one of those overlooking spots; wondering how life would be like a year on; wondering—just wondering. And yet, it was enough.

You wonder how it all ended, or if it even really began in the first place. You wonder whether all those words meant something, or if they were just in passing. You remembered holding on to his arms, knowing he’d keep you safe from the firecrackers you were so scared of. You remembered the laughter; you remembered the tears—especially that time when you broke down under flickering lights, and the harsh fall of raindrops; each drop leaving a scar in your heart. You remembered all those times you’d talk about dreams and nightmares; broken hearts and broken promises. It was all so easy. It was all so fine.

You wonder how it stopped—because you wouldn’t be thinking of this now if it went on, and on, and on—like the other things in your life. You wonder who stopped talking to whom first; who didn’t reciprocate the messages. You remember how hurt you were. You remember all the questions you asked.

Years later, you no longer wonder why. Yet, you couldn’t help but wish that he stayed—that whatever you had stayed. Because you’re so used to loss—you’ve had it all your life. But whenever you see old photos of that time, and whenever you think of him—that person who had your back once upon a time, and who was so good to you, you found hope again—you couldn’t help but feel this strange stinging sensation in your heart. You couldn’t help but feel sad. You couldn’t help but wonder.


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