One last time.

Photo by: Von

Listen. I am not here to sulk at my mistakes in the past years. Even though before, it still haunts me during random times of the day, like on a sunny morning in June, or seeing the word “love” used as an endearment on some Facebook status. Finding the letters he sent that I’ve kept inside my suitcase while I was busy tucking in my sweaters because we were getting ready for summer. Also seeing the book he gave me, where we starred. Those days where he'd be all over telling me songs of The Smiths, or Empire of the Sun's Without You. Where everything I do is "kyot kyot" and where he would tell me he doesn't need anyone else cos he found his home in me. Where he said, "I don't have time for games anymore". Where he swore to the universe that it's time he gets serious and I'm going to be his last relationship, hence, he proposed. Fuck, the ring. Do not forget the ring he gave matched with sweet words said, but then, never actually committed to the relationship, only on the idea of it. Seeing and remembering, made me shrug it all off because it actually does not feel like a loss. It has been so long since the last time I ever thought about the “happy” moments that we had, and now I can’t vaguely remember what it’s like to have an affection for someone like him, who once made me look forward to the future with certainty, but only left with nothing more than just remains of the vast universe he described, words forming into stars turning into a new world of our own.

But those are just words. Letters put together to form a detailed narrative. Words that seared through me, and destroyed his atoms residing in my body. Words that faded in my memories, eventually, through time.

I may have been the worst version of myself when it comes to making choices when it comes to him, only because I told myself that if ever I will love again, I’ll make it true. If ever I will love again, I’ll make it right. I remember so well how much I unfathomably loved him. But every falling out we had, made an interstice on the super clusters of our galaxy that made me feel like a lost star, trying to find its orbit, and choosing the same one all over again. And again. And again. I was the star who rashly kept on choosing the wrong orbit. I imprudently kept giving chances to the wrong person. But I am fervently aware that I am a work in progress and if there is one thing I have to admit before I forgive him for everything that he did, is that I have to forgive myself first.

It came to a point that I became pathetic enough to wonder if there is something wrong with me, or am I not enough? But my skepticism was overthrown when people on the flip side would tell me, in comfort, otherwise. I was either cursed or applauded by my friends, because of the absurdity of my thoughts and actions. I was oblivious of the fact that leopards can’t change its spots, after all.

No. I am not here to put myself on a pedestal and put out everything that I did to make it work. I am not here to tell you things to defend myself based on the one-sided story you may have heard because fuck what you heard. I am not here to tell people how much of a jerk he is, because he is actually doing a great job himself.

And no, I am not sorry I just said that.

Although I am sure that someone will tend to exaggerate and turn things around to overcompensate some machismo demeanor by blaming it on the distance, or by needing a specific language of love, as if I’m not human enough to be needing the same thing too. Making me feel that I can only be loved on the condition that he can touch or see me. Making me feel as if my body isn’t enough for his atoms to reside that it needs to stay with everyone else that he meets.

You were my orbit. My orbit that just remains as it is, going through the same pattern. Never ending. On repeat. But the cloud of interstellar dust within the galaxy we created, exploded. As the star, of course, (ala Zoe Skylar) I shattered. I collapsed. I crumbled. And just like our souls, and belief in reincarnation, I was reborn. That was my rebirth.

This is me now. Your TNPI. Your LOML. Your clavicled tears. Your Greco Romance. This was your fiancée. This is me now. On a different orbit. And today, I woke up to a new year, after my 28th life. This is me forgiving myself. This is me, standing up for the best decision I've made. And this is the last time I am going to write about us. 


Well, maybe.




P.S. I started making this last June 2016, finished it last September and published this last January 2017 on my Wordpress account. Just thought of putting it up again here, because it's very fitting for the month of April. Wala lang. I just thought you should know that I did not write this one recently. Ew. Yo girl got no time fo that. Lol.

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