Wonder

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.

 

Old Friends

You look at that old album, one that has not been opened in years, one which contents you thought have gotten out of your grasp; out of your memory. In reality, they’re still there, just waiting to be opened up again.

You see photos of that girl—that one girl you’ve been friends with for years. You remembered how you fought over stickers and papers; how you would braid each other’s hair; how you would stay at each other’s homes just talking for hours while dissecting what’s on television; how you would talk about those silly boys who made you smile, and made you confused, at the same time.

You smile as you leaf through the pages, the remnants of your old life unfolding right before your eyes. You remember that girl, and remembered how you promised to stick for each other through anything; to be the kind of friends whose kids would also be friends; to just be with each other forever.

And then you remembered that little girl is not in your life anymore—has not been for years.

You remembered the accusations, the ugly words said. It didn’t matter whether it came from you, or from her—what only matters is that they’ve been said.

You don’t remember the exact time you wished you would not be around her anymore; how the thought of her coming over started to irritate you; how you stopped telling her everything; how the jokes became too much, too cruel; how you no longer got each other’s back; how you no longer fit in each others’ lives.

You’ve both lived different lives since then, and you can’t help but wonder: will these new versions of yourselves still like each other? Or is that all your friendship is going to be?

You wonder, and then you stop.

Because then, you realize that this life is what your life is supposed to be; that this life, without her, is better than with her in it.

And it’s okay.