Mistletoe

Twenty-two years ago, we first met under a mistletoe.
You kissed me because someone dared you to.

It was a harmless bet. A quick cash, you said.

But you were you.

Young. Adventurous. Rebellious. Care-free.
You always wanted to try everything that you weren't supposed to.

While I was me.

Always doing what was told. Always in the safe zone.
My bubble was my world. I set boundaries and limitations. I was in my own box.

We were two different people. Opposites at best.

But you managed to squeeze through all the creases of my fence and climbed all my walls.

And you did what others could not. You made me reach out and hold you.

You knew. I told you from the start. I did not want this. You said the same.

And yet, we couldn't help it. We were drawn.

At first, we could not explain why. Or how.

But as time passed, we had our reasons.
I found a doorway out my stale world in you.
And you said, I was the solace from yours.

We were each other's little piece of what lacked in our everyday life. We were what completes the other.
And more.

Though the era we met was unforgiving.

Life was based on how much money a person have.
Social status was what running the people.
Titles and connections were the sources of power.

There was no room for what was not considered normal.

They looked at the colors of our skins and the way your straight hair was longer than my curly ones.

They pointed at the mismatching leather jackets in slacks and silhettos, the heavy make up and the cigarettes. The tattoos.

They questioned why I speak differently with a weird accent. And how could the lively young you were holding the clammy, calloused and manicured hand of the mature me.

And they finally asked our preferences.

I remember the pain. I remember the rejection.
The stares. The whispers.
The way they silently mock us. The way they openly judge us.

You were sorry. You thought you caused this.

You said you were too reckless. You said you had been a failure.
That you have even brought me down with you.

But I never blamed you. I loved you. More than myself sometimes.
It was my choice to stay and continue.

You introduced me to the summer that I missed. And to the spring that had long gone.

You should have known that you were my morning sun.

So when you left, my life dimmed. I was lost.

I was supposed to be your moon.
To let you know when it was time to relax and guard you while you rest.

Until now, I still wonder if it was me that lacked from noticing.

Was I not open enough? Did I miss anything?
Should I have been more available?
Have I not showed and made you feel accepted and loved?

Did I not make you happy? Was I not enough reason for you to stay?

To stay with me in this life?

I cursed at the way you left me. I cursed at everything and everyone.

They took you from me.

Their hatred burned you. Their words tore you apart.
They killed you inside out.

I know because it was the same for me.

So you took yourself away from me.

You fucking little shit.

I never wanted that. The future I wanted was different.

I got us that place you fell in love with. The one that overlooked the city. The one where we can build a working playground in the backyard.

I also talked to your mom. She had come to terms of our relationship. She was finally ready to be open.

For you.

Did you know what I have planned that night?

You were supposed to accept the ring I bought for us. You were supposed to say yes to my question. You were supposed to be my partner.
And we were supposed to live a happy life together forever.

You took those all away from me. From us.

And you took my heart with you when you left.

You should've told me all the demons in your head. I was supposed to know what was troubling you.
So I could have protected you.

But you didn't. You were selfish.
You let it consume you alone. You did not share it with me.

You loved me too much. And I loved you too much.

I wanted to follow you in so many occassions.

Make the jump. Take the pills. Inhale the fumes.
Stab a vein. Step in the tracks. Shoot the gun.

But I didn't. I was afraid. I was not numb enough then.

Every day. Every week.
Every year after you left, I make a wish.

I wish you were here.

I wish you never did what you did.

I wish I was there. I wish I knew.

I wish I could bring the time back.

I wish you took me with you.

Why did you not take me with you?

How could you leave me in this cruel world alone? How could you make me feel loved and then take it all away?

But I cannot blame you. Nor them.

There was no one else to blame really.

Although, are you not in pain anymore? Is it all better now?

Are you happier there? Is someone protecting you?

Do you still love me?

I just wanted to ask. This will be my last letter to you anyways.

Because I am tired of always wishing. Of always crying.
Of always dreaming of you and waking up.

I am tired of this pulsing pain in my chest. The hollow that kept spreading. The darkness that swallowed my world.

I cannot wait until my winter comes. I want to see you now.

Love, I might not be numb enough but I think I understood you better after all these years of idling.

Once I pass the bright tunnel, will you be waiting for me? Will you recognize me? Will you hug me again?

Also, will you live your life again with me?

I hope you will.

And if you do, please, kiss me again under that mistletoe.