I gained so many life lessons from you. At one point, I even wanted to stop learning because it was overwhelming but the thing with me is that once I’m in, I’m in for real. I don’t like to do things half-hearted. Well, now look where we are.
Just last night I was assessing whatever I learnt from you. The biggest lesson I learnt was being able to love. I’ve always thought I could when I was younger, but over time, I didn’t want to confuse love with infatuation. I’ve had very few crushes in the past because I knew how much energy and effort it took. I also kept it all to myself, revealing only to a select one or two that I liked someone. I wasn’t in that bandwagon; when the girls would gather and talk about their crushes. I’ve only ever liked 2 boys before you.
The first time I admitted to liking someone, whatever it was, it was short-lived. At that point I did only like you. I guess when we spend time with the people we like, it can develop into something more. Truthfully, I initially didn’t want it to be anything serious. I was young. School and family should be my sole priorities. I knew I could come off as strong, or too intense, so I told myself to let things be more controlled. I think I wasn’t that expressive or as expressive as I could be, but I did show and tell how I appreciated you once in a while. Even you said it was obvious from the way I behaved.
When it happened, I was in denial. I found it hard to accept that you wanted to get rid of everything that could link back to me. I experienced a sense of self-hatred I didn’t know could even exist in the first place. I did think whether I was just being too immature or behaving so rash when I was more composed.
Now that I’ve fully come to terms with it, I don’t know if it’s safe to say whether I loved you or haha, damn it, that I still do. It’s hard to move on because sometimes my mum would ask me about you even though I’ve told her before that I haven’t contacted you in so long, sometimes I stumble upon your face in my phone gallery, sometimes I see the folders in my computer that would make me cry the moment I open them. I wrote some poems for you. I wrote a short book for you, even, for your 20th. They’re all there. They serve as reminders that whatever I felt was real. The picture we took from the museum’s photobooth is also still in my box.
I’ve made a promise to myself just recently that I should love you less. That I need to be strong on my own. That just because things didn’t turn out the way I visioned it to be, I shouldn’t be so downhearted. But it’s so difficult especially when you’re doing so well now. I’m happy that you are, but I wish I’m there with you, or that I can at least get rid of this leeching sadness.
I’m just so tired.