To be honest, I cannot even remember the first time I saw him, for my eyes were set on another man. He struck me as someone I would hardly get involved with, because of our opposing natures: me being timid and shy, him being loud and liberated. It took us two years of high school to interact, as we’ve had different circle of friends. Two years we never really knew one another, and another two years of feeling like one is the back of the other’s hand.
The first time I saw him was null, the first time I met him was void. Despite our online connection and previous interactions, I only knew him when I walked through the crowd towards him, holding a tiny keychain of his favorite character. That moment was magical, despite of the simple gesture and setting. It was unforgettable, now that my box of our memories together will no longer be filled.
I opened that magical box again, and popped out were us riding a train, eating street foods, walking side by side (when I wished it was hand in hand instead) and other ordinary things that I ought to do — and from now on will do— alone. It was just now that I realized that the plainest things can be made extra special by just someone who matters most to you.
What happened between us was like the rain in summer: one moment it’s there, intensely pouring, and then the next minute it’s gone—leaving me waiting, and wanting for more because the dryness was not sufficed. It was out of season and unexpected, unhappy when it’s there yet longing for more when it’s gone.
As I slid my hand to close what was now the box of despair, the river in my eyes started flowing, again. I never bothered to dry it, for my efforts will be futile. I’ll leave it flowing until it dries. Despite everything, I knew deep inside that I am still waiting for you to come and ask me why, while drying the river with your gentle touch.
It has become a habit: I take the box, open it, cry, hug it, and cry myself to sleep. Unhealthy and befitting of my profession, as it leaves my eyes puffy the moment I wake up. I wake up, stare by the empty space beside me, while running my fingers through my hair, just like how you once did, for countless times. That gesture made me tickle and sleepy when you did it. How I wish you’d do it again, so that I’ll sleep happy instead of crying.
Inspired by:
Daily Writing Prompt from Writers Write: Write about the first time you saw him.
Random Thoughts 