It was Friday morning. I woke up with a message on Facebook from a band mate, telling me to check out Chris Cornell’s version of "Nothing Compares 2 U" and that we should play it on our next gig.
So I did.
Forty-five seconds into the song, I felt an imaginary lump building in my throat. It was awesome, it was majestic. Furthermore, it reminded me of you.
As the song went on, my mind started firing up a montage of our long-forgotten memories: that awkward first movie date (it was I Know Who Killed Me starring Lindsay Lohan, I believe), that funny moment when I met you at Galleria’s food court and you were just in your light blue pajamas. Those One Tree Hill marathons, the random nights out, the surprise visits, the way we held each other’s hands—and yes, the burnt eggs almost every morning after. Hey, at least the pancakes were good.
It’s kind of funny to think that we traded all of these wonderful things for the sake our childish pride, aside from the fact that neither of us were willing to forgive each other. That we were so f*cking high with ourselves individually that we only accepted what we thought as the only thing that was right, only to find out a couple of years later, that we were wrong.
That we messed up.
We were happily engaged, and we threw it and our parents’ blessings away, over some issues that could have been easily mended with a sincere sorr—well, it’s too late for that. We’re far too late to correct that mistake. Touch move, my dear. Checkmate.
We tried to go on with life hoping that we’d just be another chapter in each other’s book. Yes, we blindingly took that approach. We both kept ourselves busy with our own careers and preferred shenanigans. You traveled the world as a flying maiden (read: flight attendant), while I continued to wear out the letters on my keyboard.
You got your man, and I got my girl. We moved on from each other and everything should have been fine. All should have been sailing smoothly like that 311 song we loved to listen to on sudden road trips.
Apparently, it was not as easy as I thought.
You see, no matter how many times I—no—we fake it, we really can’t deny just how special we are to each other. We’re oceans apart yet we still stalk each other on social media. Do you still recall how many times we unfriended and blocked each other on Facebook just because we couldn't stand what we see on each other’s feed? Only to find ourselves befriending each other again because knowing the fact that nothing connects us anymore somehow make us feel a little bit empty.
We always try to talk about our separate lives, only to find ourselves spiraling back into our past. Arguing about whose fault it was that our relationship went up in flames. Seriously, why do we keep doing that?
Do you even remember that night when you came back for a quick visit and you furtively followed me to the bar I was in just so you could see me? Followed by the moment when we secretly held each other's hands at the back of the van while your brother was driving towards your hotel? It seemed as if I played it cool. But honestly, it was the happiest I had been in years. Sadly, it was also the last I’d be seeing and holding you.
I can still remember that fateful day when I opened my Yahoo! Messenger, that same platform where we used to talk a lot, back when Facebook was still developing its messaging service. We hadn't been in contact for months, yet you were constantly buzzing me up for days as if you were sending a distress signal, a princess waiting for her knight to rescue her.
I quickly sent a reply, though a day late since your last message. Hours later, you told me this: "You’re too late." "Late for what?," I asked. But I never got your answer. Until now, I still wonder what it was for.
Months later you were getting married and you’re pregnant with his kid.
It’s been seven years and fifteen days since you took your love away. I guess today, I’ll just eat in a fancy restaurant.
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