It wasn’t love at first sight with him but familiarity – the kind that only deepened the more our paths crossed, like walking on uncharted territory and feeling at home.
I told him I was bad with directions so he drew me a map showing me the way to his heart and told me that if I ever get lost, he can be home. I knew then that I was slowly unraveling, my secrets spilling out, our souls intertwining.
It was always an adventure with him. Even when we were just lying side by side on a rainy day talking about our dreams, it was a completely different world of our own. And I never wanted to leave.
The end came as silent as the leaves falling in autumn. There was no deciding moment; one day the leaves were falling then the next, the trees were bare. Our time has run out.
Suddenly it was raining gasoline and I was made of paper, and his name was a lit match. I set myself on fire every time I let myself remember.
Home suffocated me, and his face was painted all over the places we visited; there were too much of him, of us. I slept with the lights on and my doors open, hoping one night he’d come back. But he never did.
I saw him again and I could no longer recognize those eyes anymore. I wanted a goodbye that was concrete, something that could answer my questions, to bring out when I look back, but all I had was one last look of the face I loved turned into a stranger.
I had extraordinary days here. But the bad days were all that I could recall recently. They were drowning me and I couldn’t breathe without hurting my ribs. I needed to get out, to escape, to run away from here.
I waited for loneliness to make me want to come home. It never came. Where is home?
He’s been in my dreams recently; the kind that even when you wake up, you could still feel it, as if it really happened. In them, all my questions were answered and all our wrongs were made right. We were back to our place, and he was back to tracing constellations of promises on my skin. I heard him say my name and I swore, I almost wanted to come back home. But I woke up and nothing has changed.
I saw his picture on my timeline today. And I wish I could say that I didn’t feel anything but I did. It wasn’t an entire ocean drowning me, or an earthquake shaking my world, but drops of rain on my skin – not too much of a feeling but enough to be felt.
Spring was almost over. There was a cherry blossom tree near my new house, that reminded me of us – how short-lived its beauty was yet it was a blessing to have witnessed it. Thank you. I’m okay now.