miScOnceptiOns. . .

She was tired of it. Tired of the old-familiar routine she does whenever he was in sight. She hated spacing out. She hated the fact that each days spent seeing him only shows how undeniably one-sided and unrequited the feelings are. She hated his insensitivity. She hated hoping for that day when he would suddenly approach her. She hated seeing no hints at all that he might feel the same way, too.

She hated to be the one who always stares and never the one who is gazed at. She hated familiarizing the sounds of his footsteps. She hated planning the chances just for their paths to cross and seeing him look unhappy with those chances.

She was tired. And she hated being tired but she was.
So she struggles to forget. And finally, she has.

____________________________________________________________________________________

He was tired of it. Tired of pretending that he didn’t care at all whenever she’s around. Tired of the boringly familiar routines he does to deceive her from his real feelings. He hated how coward he was to approach knowing he wasn’t good enough for her. He hated how he feared the pain of rejection the moment he starts to talk to her. He hated feeling presumptuous that maybe she feels the same way, too.

He hated not glancing when all night long he stares at her picture in his wallet. He hated how he couldn’t tell her how she completes his day. He hated the numerous chances freely given of them crossing paths for him to tell her his feelings and another wasted chance.

He was tired and he was sick of it. Sick of pretending.
So now, he moves to be happy. And it was too late.

. .beYoND fOrgetting. .

I felt suddenly fragile, like every inch of me would suddenly, abruptly break. Maybe it was because of him. He sure does great in wounding me.

But still, he sure does make me happy though he doesn't even try.

My pain wasn't superficial. It was deeply buried, interminably carved inside. Maybe that was why I was jaded. Maybe I couldn't suppress the pain any longer.

Maybe that was why I willingly and piteously hope for that one perfect day to arrive. A perfect day when his smile would be just like every other insignificant smiles. A day when his memory will be forgotten and will bring no certain torment to my existence. A day when I could triumphantly get over him, and completely forget him.


I've been constantly waiting for that day, until now. I ached for the day when I wouldn't hope for the time to stand still when he's near. For the day when he would voluntarily vanish from my memory.

I want to hate him, to vehemently blame him for something he wasn't guilty of. And yes, I was unreasonable.

For the only thing he did was to not feel the same. And could I reproach him?


It wasn't his mistake that he didn't feel the same.It was a prerogative.


His prerogative to choose someone else. To choose me not.


So I'll gladly leave him. .

I left him but then everything was unusually unusual. . .the gloomy chirps of the birds, the ordinariness of the sunrise and the sunset, the bitterness of a chocolate..

Without him, my entire universe was in disorder, in chaos, but my bruised heart is intact.


Should I grasp him again to fix my distorted world?

I'd rather seize my heart as a whole. . .no matter how ruined my universe is with the emptiness of his existence.

I must not need him, when he doesn't even talk
.

I must not remember him, when he doesn't even know me.

I must like him not, when he doesn't even bother.

Yet. .I still need, still remember, still like him even in his absence.

I felt suddenly fragile, like every inch of me would suddenly, abruptly break. Maybe it was because of him.


Maybe it was because of me.


I know not who caused the pain. All I know is that it is painfully incurable, interminably irreparable and abOve all, it is beyond forgetting.