Tuesday, August 16, 2016

And when the distractions are asleep, it’s you I still think about.

Blah blah blah blah. My hands can’t keep up with my mind. The thoughts keep coming, scattered in every damn tile of the floor in my head. But they tell one thing: I thought I’m over you.

My friend came to see me yesterday asking for advice she thought I could give best, which I really doubted. I am admittedly the worst at problems when it comes to the matters of the heart (considerably because I have none). Anyway, the scenario is she has madly fallen in love with her college best friend. You know the drill.

Blah blah blah blah. My hands can’t keep up with my heart. The feelings keep coming, and they are all over the damn place in my chest. But they utter one thing: It’s still you.

She told me about being afraid to lose him but at the same time, being torn whether she will wear her heart on her sleeve or leave things the way they are. As she narrated me stories of him, I saw the pain in her watery eyes. The kind of pain I used to get sulked in.

And it led me to this. After months of (trying) to distract myself from thoughts of you, I am here again on the 16th of August writing about you. Sod it. Just when I thought I have grown to face the challenges I am thrown at rather than running away from them, I failed yet again.

Flashbacks appear as the rain fell on my way home playing Gabrielle Aplin’s Salvation on the background. I recall the times you drove me home, from school, from work, from dinner, from cocols and hohols.

You were my constant. My go-to when I thought I wasn’t going to graduate on time or when I thought I was gonna get fired. My number one on speed dial when I successfully defended my thesis or when I was officially hired by the company I’ve always wanted to work for.

Just as you were there for me, I was there for you. I tutored you when you were failing your Statistics class (note that I didn’t like Math) or when I comforted you when you broke up with your long-time girlfriend. I was there when you aced your impromptu speech or when you got into law school.

Blah blah blah blah. My hands can’t keep up with my memory. The reminiscences keep coming, sprinkled everywhere on this paper. And they tell one thing: I miss you every day, but every day doesn’t need to take forever.