I might have scoffed to the idea of missing you; missing the way my chest feels the beat of the everyday butterflies, the fluttering clichéd facileness. I miss the feeling of being caught by someone who desperately loves you. I miss being loved by you, maybe. I took away the hopes of being replaced by someone else, because other than believing your commitments, I conceitedly believed that you and I are an entity, well at least that is what people have been telling me. I try to make myself believe that within this physical distance, somewhere in the veneer of composure and easiness, my nerves, my organs, my system yearn to grow closer and closer to you.
“Hey”, I spoke to him the other night, my lips pursed, my hands awkwardly shifting the now faded black long bangs from left to right. Somewhere in those gestures, I grew nervous for the second time. I can feel the emotion tingling in my chest. Your pixelated face showed up on the screen as I shifted my hair again and again, adjusting my face to a so-called perfect angle, maybe a little bit under the light, because then again, I would have hoped you could see a good screen portrayal of my face.
Some days we talked, other days we won’t but that’s okay. For the most part, my heart would light up hearing your raspy, cold-sounding voice. Why does it remind me so much of the trails I thought I left behind? I dragged myself deeper and deeper into the thoughts of losing you, of losing myself away and getting carried away in a state of haze. The more we physically grew apart, the more I wanted to know why this distance is making me long for your soul again and again and again.
He talked about his life back home, and his growth for really odd and surprising habits. As I hid under my blankets, phone grasped tightly on my fingers, his sweet-sounding voice filled the background to my ears that night. I grew sleepy but I was keen on listening to him speak about everything and anything. He stuck around all smiles and laughter. His pixelated face has never looked so perfect; but my heart was even more hooked as his pronounced benevolence took me to where him and I stood a few years back. Somewhere in the background of his voice, my heart whispered to never let go.
“What’s wrong?” I asked him, eyes closed and phone still in my clutches. He took long deep breaths, probably under the sheets, probably vacantly staring onto the phone screen, probably slumped in his chair, probably thinking that this may be a bad time to talk, just because his presumable reluctance of reliving the memories may be calling his intuition. For the most part, I was in utter confusion that night, my mind races to the thoughts of losing him to another. I wanted to replay the memory over and over in my head, hopefully in where him and I have left off. The sound of his breath grew heavier as he heaved a huge sigh of tiredness, maybe hesitance.
I don’t ever want to lose you. My heart repeats the same message, replaying it constantly in me. The rampant emotions took me by surprise and all of a sudden, I yearned for him all the more.
Because I was scared of losing a piece of me in you, I didn’t want to be torn or shaken or ripped apart by your words, by your happiness with someone else; I was no more than ready to face the greatest reality of my life. I grasped my phone harder, wishing you would answer, wishing that I was actually gripping onto your palm, your hands, your fingers. I wished I had looked into your eyes even more deeply before actually losing you emotionally. Because as much as I want to look into you now the same way, I would at least have to pretend that it would never be the same like it was before.
“Never a day have I gone without thinking of being with you once more.”