I Can’t Help But Wonder If You Still Think Of Me

I sat by Fullerton Bay last night and the light show came on. It reminded me of the Saturday when we caught the light show at Gardens by the Bay with my head on your shoulder. We got drinks at IndoChine after, where I thought to myself how glad I was to be back in Singapore, and how thankful I am to have met you. When I almost got knocked over in the lift by a very huge girl, when I got yelled at by my boss this week, you were the first person I thought of.

I finally got the new set of retainers done and the dentist asked “do you grind your teeth?” You came to mind – I thought of the first night we spent together when I realised that I wasn’t the only one who grinded my teeth. But I can’t just text you whenever I please anymore.

Sometimes when I’m struggling, I think about our arguments and feel relieved that that part will never be again. But sometimes I get reminded of the good times. Minus the bad bits, I miss calling you my other half. I miss the times when you would wrap your arms around me, hold my hand, and kiss me on the forehead. And some days it hits me harder than others, like today. Maybe because I was working yesterday in front of a corkboard of our ticket stubs to the rugby, Les Mis and Shakespeare.

Maybe because I woke up to lightning and thunder, maybe because it’s a Sunday and we would always make breakfast together or do brunch, spend time by the pool or on the couch, and then have Thai night – even when I was in Phuket, “here’s my dinner T, I’m having Thai night with you in spirit”.

Your parting words were that we would drift only if we allowed it to happen, that we would speak every few days, and that all I can do is trust you. But I wonder if you’ll ever reach out to me first. It’s been odd and difficult not hearing about your day and not being able to tell you about me. Everyone has said that I’m holding on to something / someone that doesn’t exist anymore, and that I shouldn’t speak to you again. There are so many questions and things I want to ask and say to you, but all I can do is write and write and keep them somewhere safe.

But I can’t help but wonder if you still think about me, whether you eventually spoke up for me, and whether we will end up as strangers after everything we’ve shared. You were my Monday mornings, my 6.15am gym partner, my company on my morning commute, my weekends, and the first person I’d share with whenever I did something silly – or in your terms, a cabbage.

The thought that I would some day forget your voice and the person you are, and that we would become complete strangers, that upsets me more than anything else.