I once refused an offer.
And at that time, I knew that there was no turning back.
As much as my heart was screaming for my decision, I deliberately averted my gaze from the temptation– a very, very lovely temptation.
Perhaps I made a mistake, I don’t really know.
Two years ago, I was in a relationship– a short one.
I wrote about this girl over and over again since two years ago.
The only difference between that time and the present is.. I rarely put my thoughts and feelings in here– I let myself become numb from things that came across me.
Work, books, scribbles, games, alcohol, anything; I prefer those things than actually feeling anything for myself.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I feel sorry for myself, I just honestly prefer to not to let anyone affects my feelings.
At the time in our relationship, she happily wrote her words in a book every day.
She never wanted me to know what she was writing on that book, but she did give me clear expectation on what she was writing– it was all about me and her.
One day, I was with her at her place.
When she was taking a shower, I was looking for scissors around her desk.
Opening the drawer, I saw a purple book neatly put alongside a purple pen.
I instantly recognized that it was the book that she had been writing everyday.
“Magical book” she said, I’m not even sure why it was called magical.
When I was looking at the book, she came out of shower and asked what I was doing.
I didn’t say anything at first, but then I told her that I was looking at her book.
She deliberately offered me to take a look of what’s inside the book.
Now I would have said yes at that time– hell, I was dead curious.
But, unfortunately(?) I did tell her that I would only read that book by the time she finished writing– when she finally filled a book with her words.
So I said no, I firmly said that I would only read the book when she’s finished.
She put the book back in the drawer.
Later that day, she would write something while I was having a shower.
It was the last time I ever get my hands on that magical book of hers.
Reminiscing those times, I’m not really sure whether I should regret my decision.
I kept asking myself question what would happen if I did take her offer.
Because, all I want to know, is the reason she gave up and left.
I remember she said that the book will act as a reminder of me.
She will read the book should something happen, and will instantly be reminded of what happened between us– all the love and happiness we brought together.
But it didn’t work.
I don’t even know where the book is right now.
It’s a memento– a reminder of lovely, happy days that she and I spent together.
Perhaps I will never know what she wrote on that magical book.
But, if I do have the chance, I’ll read it.
Word by word.
What will happened to me, you ask?
“Did you love her?”
“Does it matter?”
“Well, why does it not ?”
“Because it was not enough to make her stay.”
I guess it doesn’t matter what will happen to me.
Not for her.
Not for anyone.
Not even for myself.