This afternoon, everything came back to me. I saw everything passed, every single one of them, one by one, inside my head, projected into my eyes as if I was in my own cinema, with only me as the audience, watching a movie about my own life.
I remember her.
All the pain I felt from missing her. All the excitement I felt when I was about to met her for the first time. All her smells, and all her taste – Her lips, her skin, her breath. All the tears of joy I shed when she wrote me a letter. Everything; just everything that connects me and her.
I remember everything – before, and after.
I remember all things that happened to her and the people around her. She didn’t tell me what happened. She kept it all on herself and dealt with her problems all by herself. And now I’m thinking, why didn’t she tell me about the people that betrayed her when it all happened? She knew that I was her cavalry. She knew that I would stand firm in front of her and charge ahead to whatever it is that she currently is facing. I would be her bravest vanguard – her foremost part of her army – her most trusted general. Yet she put her armors, took her shield and sword, and went to war alone, all by herself.
Her defeat was inevitable.
I remember coming to the aftermath, only to found her crying – bruised from the war, filled with wounds on her porcelain skin, and stabbed in the back numerous times. She was bewildered, shaken to the bones, and her eyes were filled with confusion. I found out that it was her most trusted friend that lead on the opposing side; that those were her most trusted people that raised flags and banners of war against her. That it was those people that stabbed her in her back.
They betrayed her.
I remember feeling sick down to the deepest center of my stomach – asking myself on how could someone do such thing? I know that betrayal always came from one’s trusted friend, and not from the most ferocious enemy; yet, I have never seen such unthinkable atrocity committed before in my whole life. I went to her and tried to help her up stand on her little feet. But she shoved me away – she forgot me, she forgot who I am, and she forgot how much love and trust that she had for me.
They killed her sense of love and trust.
I remember how I spiraled into madness after what happened, and even further down the well of insanity after she lied and broke my entire heart to billions of pieces – without even uttering a single apology. Because it felt so unfair, because I did nothing wrong, and I was just forced to accept everything, as if the Universe forced me to swallow the most bitter pill I’ve ever had in my entire life.
I remember how the people around me cursed me, an alcoholic ruined by the misery of losing the only woman I have ever purely loved. They judged me instead of trying to understand me – gave me a figure of a dancer no longer able to dance. They forgot my pain, remembered my close-mindedness, and carried it with them always everywhere they went. In the heart of a drunkard, they saw nothing.
I remember how estranged we have become. We were two connected souls, and we still are. Yet, she forgot just how much she loves me. She forgot how to love. She kicked me out of her heart, and shut and barred the door. I was left alone, outside, in a barren, wintry wasteland, without even knowing what to do. And I proceed to try to warm her cold and frozen heart with words, written in blood – stories – poetry – everything.
Until this very day.
I remember just how much I miss her. The constant ache inside my heart which I cannot ignore. A yearning so bad, I reached a point where I tried to compensate by finding her characters and traits in people all around me. The way she smiles, the way she eats, the way she laughs; everything. Everything that is remotely concerned with her is a constant remainder which further increases my longing.
I can tell her I miss her. I’ve said and wrote it plenty of times. I have written it in the steam of my bathroom mirror, I quietly whisper it every single night when I’m lying down in my bed, and I’ve carved it into my mattress and into the inside of my cheeks with paper clips – I don’t even know where I got it. She haunts me at day, and invades my dreams at night. I know it’s not fair to her and to lot of you, the way I act, chiseling my words into your chests, feeling every bit of feeling that I’ve poured inside my words. But I just don’t want to shut this feeling – I don’t want to be some people that do NOT want to feel something by shutting some of their doors.
I know there is no true escape from this longing.
I remember how hard it was to once again walk forward. I wanted to stop living, I wanted to perish along with her sense of trust and love. I didn’t want to do anything. I gave all my heart, all my love, and all I have for her only to be forgotten by her because of some untrustworthy assholes. It was as if what I’ve done for her just wasn’t enough for her to get her back on track. But I know that what I did is not something that could be taken to heart instantly within weeks or months, especially with her condition. I understand that she just needs some time, for I don’t know how long. And I, too, need to take time as my best friend right now.
Patience is all that I need.
I remember the things that I’ve done to myself so I get to move forward. I wrote my thoughts and feelings. I wrote poems about her, and about her only. I changed myself and vowed to focus myself in process of killing my bad habits, focusing on to make myself better. I got first short haircut after 7 years. I got a new tattoo in my wrists. I tried to understand her better. I finally walked, and I walked for the sake of myself and her.
I’m making myself better for her.
I remember seeing her getting better and better everyday. I see her opening the windows of her heart, and getting herself ready for the spring. Although she still doesn’t let me in; although she only willing to talk to me with a barred door between us, I know I have to be happy with that for now. I know that she is trying to tidy up her place, that she is arranging everything inside her heart, that she, is trying to love herself and her heart first before anything else.
She makes me love her even more by loving herself.
I remember that she and I were having some slight misunderstanding at times. And I remember telling her that it’s a very common problem to be misunderstood, that there are always some slight misunderstanding when two people are trying to understand each other. The only difference between me and her and other people are: one part of the other people does not suddenly stop talking in trying to be understood simply because of slight common misunderstanding. I remember telling her that it’s a bad habit that she needs to kill.
I’m hoping for her to be more straightforward in saying something.
The more I remember, the more I believe that she and I will be fine in the end, and the more I believe that she will finally open up her heart to the feelings that she is currently holding back.
I remember everything – before, and after.
The more I remember, the more I love her. And the more I love her – the bigger this flame goes on inside of me, the more I understand her, and the more I am willing to change for her. For me. And both of us.
I remember her – my inspiration – my muse.
My very definition of love.