the words to my love

I remember meeting you that Saturday afternoon.

You moved so flawlessly and it was insane seeing you for the first time because it was like my world was suddenly filled with colour, contrasting with the black and white that I’d been seeing in the past few months. It was insane and crazy, because I thought that I was only meeting you for the now and not the future.

I remember the things we talked about, from every conversation to every fight we’ve had. They were all important to me. Every single bit of it and every word you said stayed, good and bad but somehow, I can never bring myself to hate you enough to leave you.

We were like children hiding in the bushes and keeping secrets of crushes. We sneaked around like it we were teenagers doing nothing and I still remember the first time that we kissed.

It was on a hot, sweltering Sunday afternoon and we’d spent the morning having coffee, reading a book and then going out to the waterfront where we sat in the shade of a tree talking about things that didn’t matter to us. I remember every word you said, and everything that we talked about because that day was important to me. We took a walk back to my car and had the windows wound down when you turned to look at me with the mysterious look in your eyes.

“Can I kiss you?”

That word itself made me nervous.

We kissed. I still remember everything that I felt that day. Nervous, embarrassed, shy, happy. All of it rolled into one and yet you managed to keep me sane just with those lips. You tasted like the Big Mac you had for lunch, and you were warm, a feeling that meant that we were both alive.

To all the kisses and the ones after that.

I remember when you called me at 10:30 at night just to tell me goodnight. I felt like my mind would explode because no boy had ever put that much effort in for me. I remember when you first held my hand the night of our second date, when you just held me and caressed my skin with your thumb because that’s all you could do while I took the time to get used to it.

You were patient and you were beautiful.

My best memory of you was the day we went to a park the first time and sat side by side reading a book. You smelled so good and when we went to read in the car instead, I thought you were so beautiful. It was insane seeing you read a book because I always thought boy readers were pretty. That same night, we sat at the back of my car and we talked about the stupidest things we could think of.

And then all of a sudden, we started talking about your last relationship, and how she hurt you. Oh, your ex-girlfriend, how she did hurt you so bad that you just broke down and cried in front of me. And it still haunts you to this day, and I know that much. Because when you think about her, all you ever did was let a tear slip to let me know just how much it still affected you.

I remember whispering my insecurities to you, where and why they existed and I remember how you held me as you cried a tear. When I asked why you cried, you said something that made me want to fall in love with you.

“You are just so goddamn pure.”

I knew then that I was falling in love.

We talked about a lot of things. One thing I could never forget was how you told me that you might come back for me. It made me feel loved. It made me feel like maybe, maybe there was something worth living for in this world.

That same night, I remember driving in the dark just the two of us with the music playing so softly and I remember as you held my hand that night. We were quiet. Nothing needed to be said because just being with you made me feel so happy. I remember feeling the europhia that threatened to break me when you looked at me through the flashing lights of the passing cars and this was the moment that I completely let myself to fall in love.

“I’m serious about this.”

And I knew you were. I could see it. I could feel it. And I knew that you were serious about me.

You couldn’t sneak back into base that day and spent the night out in the my car instead until you could call a taxi back to base at 3 in the morning. You asked for a last goodbye kiss before you left for the field for a week.

I missed you.

These were the moments when we were at the prime of what we had. They were special moments that I will never forget. And these are moments that I will remember you by, never for the bad but for the good because of how you made me feel.

You were worth it.

You don’t love me. You don’t like me anymore either, I know that much. I know that I’m not someone you care for anymore because I’m just someone who fell in love with you when you didn’t plan on making anything long-term.

And it’s your fault for allowing it to happen.

I hate you with everything I have. I hate you for not taking responsibility of my love and instead the best you could offer me was a simple, “sorry” because you had nothing else to give me while I had given you my everything.

I never asked for you to love me back, not once did I beg you to love me. But all I wanted was for you to accept my love, instead of pretending that my feelings were nothing more than a whim. I liked you so much that it transcended beyond my understanding and it took me so long to understand what it really was.

All I wanted was for you to smile at me and say that you know how much I love you and you appreciated it.

You knew that I was in love with you before I did. You knew that I was falling hard and you allowed it to happen. You knew that I was in love, but you pretended to be blind to it.

To say that I would stop hating you would be too far out in the future to predict but to say that I won’t would be too spiteful so this would be the words of my goodbye instead.

These are the words of my goodbye to you, my love.

Words that you will never reach you but I hope that you will read one day.

I love you, and I know that I always will even if it might not be the same anymore. I hope that you find what you’re looking for, and I hope that she treats you better than I could and I hope that you treat her better than you did me.

I hope that one day, we may come across each other again in between oceans and continents and in that one day, we’ll both realize how stupid we were.

But don’t fret, my love. I have never regretted a single moment with you because if I did, it would mean to regret falling in love and you were someone I would have crossed oceans for.

Now, you are no longer worth it.

Looking At The Bigger Picture: Untold Soliloquies

I’ve always looked upon others with a simple question; why?

To a person unknown to me, it would seem bitter and heartless but from my perception, it seeks out the truth from what I only see. Looking at the bigger picture, I see what actions say as opposed to the words that only speak little.

My life has a single meaning to it; to strive for what I want despite the setbacks of anything and everything – but what does it mean to others? What do the lives of others mean to me? In all of honesty, very few people have a special place where I keep them but it matters not because there will always be space for others.

Albeit, looking at the bigger picture of my meets in life, I have become wary of allowing a significant number of people into my life but only because I have lost more than I can imagine. The lives of the people who were once very dear to me are now lost souls – living or dead – but lost, nonetheless.

The bigger picture is this; caution is what I keep by me always.

Everyone you meet has a story – be it a sad one, depressing, happy or tragic – we are all entitled to our own story. However, as strangers who pass you everyday, we are unaware of their bigger picture, the one that hides all truth and only speaks through words. We are, by our subconscious, ignorant and nonchalant to the likes of others who do not matter to us.

So this article is mainly, for those who have stories untold and unread.

I was walking down the streets in the city once when I stopped to watch a young man in a suit offer a bedraggled elderly woman in tattered clothes some money. To the public eye, they could only come to two conclusions; the man is kind and the woman is homeless.

It was, however, only a general statement. I stood where I did and asked one simple question; why? 

Why was the man so kind, and why was she homeless? In these situations do we look upon the words and stories not spoken and ask the questions about the people who do not matter to us. Many looked on the woman, some offering her money without giving her another glance but have many wondered why was she placed in such a predicament?

The life of the elderly woman is of no concern to me, but her bigger picture was, however, a question. The young man, suited and seemingly well-off, took thirty seconds off from his busy day to dig into his pocket for small notes of cash to offer to a woman who mattered not to him.

Why?

Did he at one point of time feel and experience life the way the woman did, or was he brought up to understand the hard work that had brought him where he was today? Was he, by any chance, a kind man not by oppression from society and parents but by choice and past experience?

These lives are the ones with stories untold from the start. Soliloquies that only they themselves understand.

We come to the general conclusion of situations when we know not of the truth behind every action and every word. We do not choose to see what is not shown because it is easier to not question why when the people involved do not matter to us. We do not question for reasoning but yet choose to come to a conclusion only obvious to the public eye.

I have spent days alone enough to think of what it means to understand the meaning of the bigger picture. It is as often, hidden by nature or sometimes by choice, but hidden mostly because vulnerability is threatened. Exposing your story can cause both positive and negative reactions – both to be expected from human nature – but just because it is hidden does not mean one does not question it.

We are too engrossed with our own lives to bother knowing the lives of others but with every step, you pass the chance of knowing a different story as how you pass strangers without questioning the simple question of why?

I have, by all means, discovered the true meaning to my life ever since I underwent a ten-minute talk about differences and bigger pictures, courtesy of my father whom I had learned from to accept and understand people from different walks of life. It is by this discovery, that I understood why I do what I do.

This larger insight on a person’s life is more than stories that changes a person, even if it does not matter to you. I could have walked away the day I saw the suited man and elderly lady but instead, I chose to stay and watch because it changed what I thought about the people around me. I was given a chance to question a man’s actions and a woman’s well-being because without it, I would have not understood what it meant to be in both their shoes.

Both their lives may not have mattered to me, as how I would not have mattered to them but the bigger picture, however, intertwines us all into a story in itself.

And we must always question the story.