Someday

Someday

“I hope someday I’d have the chance to bring you to dinners with my girlfriends and they’ll talk about how lucky I am to have caught you. I hope someday you’ll bring me to one of your family parties. I’d be dressed up in a nice cocktail dress and you’d be suited up in that tuxedo, and your cousins would tell us how good we look together. And you’d just spend the entire night telling me how proud you are of me.”

Credits: http://thoughtcatalog.com/femar-malones/2016/05/i-hope-one-day-we-can-meet-again-and-give-us-a-chance/ – Femar Malones

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The Other Side Of The Bed

The Other Side Of The Bed

3am.

I kicked the blankets off my legs and turned to my sides. My hands reached over to the other side of the bed, trying to grasp for something, someone. Emptiness. There was emptiness.

115 days.

It has been 115 days since I spoke to you. 117 days since I last saw you. 203 days since you last laid here with me. 203 days since you last held me close to you.

I lay in bed wide awake, reminiscing the nights we spent together. We would stay up late into the nights talking about everything and anything. The future, our future; how many kids we would like, what car we would get, how many dogs we should have, the kind of house we would get and the countries we want to visit.

It was us against the world. We were happy, we were spontaneous and we were.. together. At the very least, we were together.

I sat up in bed and hugged my knees. I miss you so much. So damned much. I thought we had it all. I thought you were the one. The last one. I thought.. you loved me. But I guess I was wrong.

And now I lay in bed trying to recall how life was like before you, how life was like when I didn’t have a face to look at in the mornings, how life was like when the other side of the bed was still empty. I don’t know how I’m going to get used to this, but I will try, even if I fail, I will continue to try. But regardless, I’m still thankful for you. For all that you have given me, thank you.

Photo source: Tumblr

This Magical Thing Called Love

This Magical Thing Called Love

“I loved being in love with him. Love is easy and strange. I would ponder it on rattling tube trains, on crowded buses, at work – what was it about him that produced this effect on me? I could never decide definitively and had lists of both generalizations and detailed particulars: I loved his generosity, his ability to laugh at himself, his determination, the way he could unequivocally apply himself to any task, his impulsiveness, and how he could find humour in any situation. But yet, I also loved the way he rubbed his hair in a circular motion when he was tired, how his upper lip would stick out when he was cross, that he couldn’t go to sleep unless he had a glass of water by the bed, and that he was constantly surprised by how much food he could eat.”

after you’d gone – Maggie O’Farrell

That Day When I Told You To Take A Chance

That Day When I Told You To Take A Chance

That day. I wasn’t drunk. I was drinking at a friend’s wedding. But I wasn’t drunk. I was crying because I was so happy for her. She finally got married to the man of her dreams. Someone whom she told me she might possibly love for the rest of her life.

Isn’t marriage such a wonderful thing? Two people, in love, pledge a vow, and become one. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness or in health, to love and to cherish till death do us part.

I love weddings, I love the idea of marriage; two people coming together to commit to something, to brave through storms and whatever nots together. Always, together.

That day. I wasn’t drunk. But I texted you anyway. Maybe I was trying to use being drunk as an excuse to tell you how I felt. How I’ve always felt.

I told you that I was at a friend’s wedding, and you asked when will mine be. And so I said, “when someone proposes to me. Are you up for a challenge? Are you willing to take a chance?”

You didn’t respond.

A part of me wished that you were seriously thinking about it. But a part of me knew, you chose to brush it off, so as to not spoil our friendship. I apologize for my ‘drunk texts’. For asking you to take up the challenge you never thought about, the chance you never wanted. But, I just thought you should know, I love you anyway.

I Almost Told You I Love You

I Almost Told You I Love You

I opened the whatsapp conversation to our text messages and read through our last text exchange. It was from a few days ago. And it was pretty boring. It was full of ‘how was your day’ and ‘okay’s. Then I saw you ‘typing…‘. I quickly exited the chat, in fear the blue ticks would appear immediately on your phone when you send the texts through.

I waited for five minutes, but no text from you came through. I was puzzled, so I went back on whatsapp. You weren’t ‘typing…‘ anymore. What did you want to say? What was it? I want to know.

Even if it was ‘I had a great day today’, that is fine, tell me more about your day. Or maybe ‘I had a rough day today’, yes please let me know. Anything really, tell me.

I started typing gibberish in our chat. I didn’t know what to say, but I wanted to say something. Many things came out. ‘How was your day?’, and ‘hello’ and then more. “I love you.”

I stared at my screen, “More than you ever imagined, more than I thought possible, so much I never dared say. I love you.”

It was like I took rocks out of my heart when I typed those words. But I put the rocks back in as I vigorously jabbed the backspace button. I will not ruin a friendship for those three words. I will not lose you because of this. I can’t.

I exited the chat.

Then a message came. From you.

“Hey, I saw you typing something but you stopped. Is there something you wanna say?”

Yes, I just wanted to tell you I love you.

Oh, no it was nothing..”

Just, nothing.

“How was your day? :)”

Mine

Mine

Five minutes to 3am in the morning, I was sitting in bed, thinking about all the things I shouldn’t be thinking about.

You. You are one of those. As usual.

I dip my hands into the bowl of nachos by my bed, reached out for some salsa, and stuffed it in my mouth. I wonder if you’re awake. I go on to Facebook, and I see you online. I click on your name, and was brought to your profile. The first thing I see is a photo of you and a girl. A girl I don’t know. I clicked on her profile, and tried to figure who she could be. Then I stopped. What am I doing. Why should I care who she is. Who am I to care.

Every time someone asks, “Are you guys together?” I always give the same answer, “No we’re good friends!” Just.. good friends.

But no, that’s not what I feel.

It might be a new girl you met at class, or a new girl you spoke to on Tinder, or maybe just a random chick you picked up from Starbucks; all these never fail to somehow prick me a little. Every single time, I fight the urge of wanting to tell all those girls “Fuck off, he’s mine, bitches.” But who am I. Who am I to say that.

And so I try to stop thinking of you; I meet other people. And I’ve met amazing people. He brought me to dinner at a 5 star hotel, and he sent me home that night, not wanting to come in to my apartment, but wanting to see me again the next morning for breakfast. I wanted to say yes, but you were coming over the next day. No hesitations, I told him no. How could I ditch you for someone I just met.

That morning. You bailed out on me for a girl you met while on your morning jog. I laughed it off and told you it was okay, that you should go ahead and enjoy yourself. I think I jabbed myself in the stomach that morning for saying that, for being so hypocritical when all I wanted to do was cry and scream at you over the phone.

That morning I stayed at home, alone. Netflix and chill. Alone. Considering that nachos and salsa aren’t people.

I wish I could scream at you. I really wanted to.

But I also wish I could run to you. I wish I could hug you. I wish I had the rights, to love you.

It hasn’t been easy, and probably won’t start being easy, but maybe, just maybe, one day I’ll be able to answer differently to the people who ask. Maybe one day I’ll be able to say “We’re not just friends.. he’s mine.” Mine.

The Last Time I Saw You

The Last Time I Saw You

The morning sun slid through the curtains. I woke up. Make up still smudged over my face, my cheeks stained with tears. I looked out the window. The skies were grey. So was I. I close my eyes and try to fall back asleep. Careful not to wake you up with my fidget. You wake up anyway.

I try to act like I was still fast asleep. I wiggle to shift my body closer to you. But I feel you push away. I let out a cry, I was hoping you didn’t hear. I didn’t want to wake up. I didn’t want to leave this bed. This room. This house. You.

I open my eyes to see you seated at the corner of the bed. I guess this was it. I push my face into the sheets, trying to wipe away the stains on my face. I sit up. You didn’t say anything. Neither did I.

I took off the favourite shirt of yours I wore last night. My favourite. The one I always wore when I came over. The one I would never wear again. I changed back into my clothes. I walked to the closet, wondering if I should remove the clothing I left from the other times. I pulled on the door, I took out my clothes. You didn’t stop me.

I finally braced myself to look at you. You looked at me, and for the first time, it was a face I found so unfamiliar. You mumbled something under your breath. As much as I wish it was “Stay”, I knew it wasn’t. All I wanted was a hug. All I wanted was for you to hold me again. All I wanted was for you to tell me to stay. You didn’t.

The last time I saw you, was when I walked out that door. I walked out of a place once so familiar. A place I used to call home. I was screaming for you to hold me. But you didn’t. You let me leave. 

The last time I saw you, you let me leave.

Photo source: Tumlr – warrensebastian