"You’re still going to get criticized, so you might as well do whatever the fuck you want."
Just when I think that I can’t love you anymore than I do, I do.
Sana dumating yung panahon na ako naman. Ako naman yung hinihintay. Ako naman yung ine-effort-an. Ako naman yung iniiyakan. Ako naman yung kinatakatakutang mawala. Ako naman yung pinapahalagahan. Ako naman yung iniingatan. Kahit isang beses lang, gusto ko din naman maranasan. Ako naman, oh.
I hate waiting for your texts that're impossible to come. I hate when I check my phone for the texts I will never get. I hate myself daydreaming that my phone will vibrate and I'll see your message on top of others. I hate you and your silly random texts that make me shudder for a moment. I hate when I'm waiting for you on midnight and expecting that you'll call, but you don't; and I fall asleep waiting for you. I hate that feeling, ever. I hate when I'm counting the stars in the a mist of dawn just to stay awake because I'm still hoping that you're still awake too and planning to text me. I hate when I'm thinking what happened to you because I didn't get replies either phone calls. Every morning, I always expect those good morning messages. Because it enlightens my day and makes me feel complete. Every night, I'm waiting for you. I'm waiting for your texts, even if drowsiness pulls my eyes down. I still fight because I miss you. I miss those midnight conversations. I miss you and the way you make me smile. But now, I stopped waiting. Because those moments will not ever happen again. Even if I'll wait for a lifetime, you won't text nor call me. I stopped waiting for you.
"I miss every part of you."
"I’m becoming part of your past."
"Just because I let you go, doesn’t mean I wanted to."
Three years later, a new girl sits cross-legged on your bed.
She tastes like a different flavor of bubblegum than you are used to.
She opens up a book that you had to read in high school, and a folded picture of us falls out of chapter three.
Now there are two unfinished stories resting in her lap.
Inevitably, she asks, and you tell her.
You say: I dated her a while back.
You don’t say: Sometimes, when I’m holding you, I imagine the smell of her vanilla perfume.
You say: She was younger than me.
You don’t say: The sixteen summers in her bones warmed the eighteen winters my skin had weathered.
You say: It’s nothing now.
You don’t say: But it was everything then.