Wither

Sunday, March 30, 2014

Just as how scents trigger emotions, hugs trigger feelings to the same extent.

I can still feel your heart pressed against mine, your arms wrapped around me, your perfume on my dress. Everything that happened on Friday still lingers. I can’t forget how you filled my lungs with sweetness and my head with you.

So long since you didn’t give me empty words, but the sincerest ones. In that moment, we exchanged our well wishes and held each other’s hands one last time. It made a part of my chest shatter and knees weaker—something I haven’t felt in quite a time.

And I thought that was the end, that I won’t see you again. But you walked almost past me following your parents, then I grabbed your arm. We talked, forgetting we were delaying our family dinners. The trees looked like they were painted gold, sparkling like your eyes that night.

Unexpected as it seemed, I embraced so much spontaneity—like a dead fish going with the flow. You hugged me, whispering a question if we’re okay. Almost in tears like in movies, I nodded. The whole world was busy and mine was with you.

Everyone was nothing like you.

I’m torn between being happy and being sad about everything because I knew it was a chance not of a new beginning but of goodbye.

Just like flowers bloom, feelings grow to the same extent. But this time, they [must] wither.