Chapter 68
How many times have I convinced myself that I need to stop wanting you back? How many more nights would I spend trying to get you out of my head?
I've never really feared oblivion until I met you. Until I realized I never wanted to become just another nostalgia that you would brush off the moment it hurts you. I don't want to become a memory you would soon forget.
I wish I have the ability to prolong my picture in your head.
I wish we didn't have to end. But . . . everything has changed.
Yup. Things are no longer how they used to.
I cut my hair short for the fear that I would miss the way you gently push them at the back of my ears when you tell me I'm beautiful. I'm trying to remove the picture of you grinning playfully whenever you see me blushing. That's hard.
I even coloured it brown because I know how much you hate it. And I'd love to think that you hate me, too. Maybe, just maybe, that would help. Maybe I would soon forget the words you've imprinted on my soul. Maybe I'd forget the way your stares slay my pain away. Maybe I'd forget that idiotic expression you make when you hit a nerve. That's hard.
I could still vividly remember the words you said to me when we were in Greenbelt Park. I could perfectly picture the way you laughed at my innocence; how you stared at me when I was drowning in bliss, and how you snorted at my obvious jealousy when a pretty woman passed by. You never failed to amaze with the way you make me feel secured that I'm the only one. You always make it known to me that I'm your favourite human in the whole of humanity. I miss the usual spot we used to sit at back in that peaceful garden. The picture of the church in front of us, the quietness of the moment, the calmness of the water behind us, and the music the wind creates when it whispers through our ears. I missed that. But I've never gone back to that place again since we parted ways. That's painful.
We usually go to the usual café just few walks from my place. We would order the same, boring frappuccino and sit across the different places in the world-like, literally.
Nami-miss ko na ang mga sabaw at napaka-walang kwentang storya mo. Kulang na lang gawan kita ng sarili mong talk show. At kahit na wala sa hulog minsan ang mga biro mo, pinakikinggan ko pa rin ang mga ito. Ano nga ba naman ang minsan na ikaw naman ang maging bangka? Kaya pinagsasagwan pa kita kapag hindi mo na kaya.
I don't know if I was able to tell you how grateful I am for the little things you've done for me. Thank you for all those genuine laughs I let out when we were together and sorry for all I have done. Sorry for not rowing hard enough to keep our ship from sinking. So far, our love story's shipwreck had been my hardest downfall.
We're just gonna stay like this forever. We'll always be a metaphor. Kape na parang pag-ibig. Pag-ibig na parang kape. Pumapait. Nanlalamig kahit gaano kaiinit. Nauubos kahit gaano karami. Nakakasama kapag napapasobra.
I've never gone back to Dragon Café since the day Guian gave me that ring. Coffee wouldn't kill me, your memories would.
I remember how we would both sing songs from random radio stations on the ride home. And you would purposely sing the lyrics wrongly to make me laugh. Sometimes, you would even mix the songs altogether and create your own mash-up. Minsan kahit wala sa hulog, nadadaan mo sa ganda ng boses. Minsan ngingiti ka lang kapag palya, tapos okay na. You're always like that. Horrifyingly cunning and I hate you for that. Have I ever mentioned that I always stare at your face whenever you close your eyes and you try to act like a diva? I always thank God for all those little moments. But now, I've never listened to any of the radio stations because I'm afraid I'll just cry over and over. I'll think about you when I do. And that's beyond awful.
