#012: If Only

The aftertaste of the 7th cigarette I lighted the last time I met you at the café was bitter, and I swear I felt my lungs giving in and my heart giving up.  I could feel your eyes observing me as you sat there, left hand cupping your cheek, right hand fiddling with the teaspoon, elbows on the table. You tried to look nonchalant about it, pretending to stare out the window when all you ever wanted to see was me, withering silently at the corner of your eye.

I never told anyone about it. I tried to ignore it. But the truth is, the hole in which I stored everything I wanted to say to you has expanded without me noticing.

Since when did we stop talking about the more important things?

Since when did I start running away from you and your lips, and your eyes, and your cheeks and your lips and…

I kissed you because that was the only thing I ever wanted to do. And you kissed me because that is the only thing you could ever do for me. My lips tasted of smoke and regrets and desire; yours tasted of pity and valediction.

Because you knew we could have had everything we ever wanted.

If only we said it out loud.

—-

A/N: Inspired by R. Siken. “You said I could have anything I wanted, but I just couldn’t say it out loud.”

#011: Your Heart on Your Sleeve

Unspoken words spread out and touch the sleeves of our shirts, the shyness, relentless, and not too far away from causing pink-colored faces. We continue to watch the flickering of the screen, our shoulders not quite touching, but are speaking in volumes that always send a shiver down my spine.

If we were to converse again, I know that it would not be about what we always wanted to say, or what we secretly wanted to talk about. Because I could never ask, and you could never answer.

If there was a definitive answer to my silenced question, I would be happy to know that it came from you. If there was not a definitive answer to my silenced question, I would be consoled by those gentle eyes, or that soft pat on the shoulder conveying everything that I need to know.

So here is everything I could never tell you.

#010: Every Little Thing

Over the course of accidentally meeting him, writing him that one note during a Valentine’s several years ago, finally meeting him again at the café written on said note, meeting him several hundred more times, and finally admitting to having fallen in love with him, she’d come to realize, and appreciate, the fact that he always knew when something’s up.

Every little thing—the twitching of eyebrows, the side-glances, the biting of lips—was indicative of how she really felt.

#009: Crossing Bridges

You thought it would be best to cross the bridge.

That short, enticing bridge.

So you crossed it, and your bravery was well admired.

But it got you to a place where your mind churned and your heart cried.

The bridge was one way this time.

And you lost a friend.

#008: When You Turned Off The Lights

That one moment before you turned off the lights was the last time you saw her.

She wasn’t there the next morning. Not in your room. Not in your reach. Not in your life. There was nothing left but the scent of her perfume diffusing inside the room and that little note by the bedside table, reading “I’m sorry.”

Sitting on your bed quietly, unmoving, you wondered if something else flipped when you turned off the lights.

Perhaps the sound of her voice didn’t flick your heart anymore.

Perhaps the touch of her hair on your cheek didn’t feel as tingly.

Perhaps her hand felt rougher than it did before.

Perhaps her eyes…

Yes, her eyes looked empty that night.

And the spark had been doused with water.

The moment you turned off the lights.

#007: Semblance of Happiness

No one else ever knew. And no one else will probably ever know everything that ever happened behind the scenes. Fate was the only one who kept a close eye on things, and it was only right. Things are much more magical when they happen behind the doors. 

And for her, for him, this memory will forever be a good one—a semblance of happiness etched at the back of their minds, something that will always be remembered fondly without being tainted by everyone else’s knowledge of it. An intimate secret that only they will be able to smile about after everything’s over.

#006: Only For Now

Only the green grass in the meadows.
Only the rivers forever running.
Only the sky that changes colors.
And the rainbow that graces it.

Only the mountain you almost climbed.
Only the the flowers in your garden.
Or the trees in your neighbor’s backyard.
Only the parents rejoicing your coming home.
Or the friends who waited for you.
Especially for you.

Only the people you ever met.
Or never met. 
Only the tightening of the chest.
Or the pain that travels down the spine.
Only the madness and curiosity. 

Only the dreams once broken, twice aspired.
Only the hope never lost. 
Only the love always shared.
Despite and in spite of.

Only this world. And several others over.

For now.

#005: Your Own Braveness

Because while there is braveness in traveling and facing the world alone, there is also certain braveness in meeting people and forging bonds with them. Because down that path, the people you choose have the power to hurt you—and when they do, the pain will infinitely be greater.

But you choose to stay with them anyway.

#004: Our Crossing Roads

The road you walk on is very similar to mine.
But very different.
You have stepping stones and milestones.
I have pebbles and rocks.

Even when our roads meet, there is only that one moment.
It never extends. Always fleeting.
And then I walk on my own again.

But I’ll meet you in the end.
Bruised, and scarred, and bleeding.
And we’ll look back at the roads we traveled.
I’ll meet you in the end.

#003: Like The Train That Never Waits

Even if you ran until your legs could no more run, as long as you missed that last second, the train will start to move.

But you don’t blame the train—only the alarm clock that never sounded, or the hand that always pushed snooze, or that late night show that was always compelling to watch, or the homework that you couldn’t finish, or the teacher who decided to give it.

Like the train that never waits, I don’t blame you for moving on—only the thousand phone calls I couldn’t answer, or the several hundred promises I couldn’t keep, or the tens of meetings I missed, or that one temptation I couldn’t resist.

Like the train that never waits, you started to move on, and like the passenger that missed the ride, I could never really blame you.