How To Meet You Again?

I never thought a simple sight could melt my whole being. Exhausted lungs because of laughter with your new companions, the way you start and end your day rinsing your soul with the hazy thought of my presence. Old, paced hallways like the ones you walked through without catching a peer of my silhouette are still there, perhaps wondering why your amorous hands are not scrunched around mine. It feels like a cycle; slowly failing to bypass enormous invisible daggers.

It's still those teenage days I used to be sitting in my armchair, eyes locked on your slovenly hair and juvenile storytelling with your brand-new friends. You seemed to not worry a thing, while I'm still wishing that on every shooting star I see on my room's window. You popped up to be relishing in front of our class with a half-pint crimson in your lush cheeks and an oblivious glance at my perturbed sanity.

Forgetting is your mind's cup of tea and leaving is your feet's hobby. If we could only go back to those days when I'm the only shiny thing you see in the midst of a bustling or sleeping crowd, dropping my cares on the decrepit floorboards and smoothing over as I see you coming closer to me.

But in the actuality of the truth painted in these walls of hurt, I see you and I feel you no matter what. My armor is not familiar with how strong you are in a battle of friendship's physicality. The war of words I gave up on the daylight and midnight's cruelty amplifies my yearning and it's terrifying that I can still feel it no matter what.

In the afternoon rush, when the sun's rays couldn't possibly incapacitate our dainty flesh any longer, we ought to be walking alongside each other. Your bizarre tales fill my ears until smoke from multiple vehicles chokes you out. Those kinds of times are so kind to us, that's why when the other page of the book turned, my ashes persisted as the room continued to burn down.

When reality pulled my hair and told me that I'm injuring myself more, I looked at you and saw no valid reasons on why you clung to change and threw the friendship locket into the sea.

Dancing through the devil of the night pierced my heart as my self-loathing voices sprang to the back of my head, as if acceptance and understanding were vast seas and I'm not a top-notch swimmer. Waiting for your precious name to pop onto my screen so I can forget the lengthy cuttings to the bone. The bouncing back of time as you get past me lives like a film reel I rent-free watch as you go in the winter of plaid pattern, my sobriety in your gnarled jeans.

I witness the action-packed alterations everyday, my love. Though acceptance is fortitude, my heart still bleeds for the sight. It still feels like my young self stumbled in a crowd and liters of shame leeched down my corduroy. It still feels like I got back to the battles of the dark and my sword vanquished. It still feels like I knew no one or anything, except the promise that we're going to enter medical school together. It still feels like your aroma is the only one I desire to go stale in my nostrils that accentuates the yearning in the heart. It still feels like the first day of the academic play, we performed and flourished and planted roots of a character's legacy behind those human cameras where I felt so lullabies. It still feels like the warmth of a 6 AM gust of wind, stitching my montage filaments caused by the sharp scissors of infidelity.

Because you're rooting for something more and it's sinking in now. Rollercoasters of truth are unhealthy sometimes, and maybe, it's on me this time. Maybe letting go is a card I've never expected I'd pick. Because maybe I'm still putting all the blame on the timing and people coming through us. Maybe fear can have the potential of caging my soul so I continue to hide and hide and hide. Maybe facing the truth in these bars is a big offense to my standing tall and proud pride.

But what if maybe it's because I still keep on wishing to meet you again?

Like a well-cared-for kid holding her cotton candy, I’m still wishing, still hoping on the waterways. Because meeting you again will herald a fresh start for both of us. I'll be using these cracked knuckles to pound on your door before smelling your hurried coffee.

I don't want to tiptoe around the cobblestones of regret in your subconscious any further while you slumber. Because I’m also annoyed by the unwanted acid rain my eyes keep on leaking at my striped pillow. My fingertips fixing the hair strands of your chaotic hair inside our classroom, telling you how good at doing it.

And if I didn’t meet you so well yesterday, I want to meet you again today.