The Beginning of the End

MONDAY

They say that when you die, your life flashes before your eyes, and I can agree, but not in the way you would think.

I didn't see memories of me from my young self growing up. I didn't see myself shuffling through my teenage years like a deck of cards before a game of Solitare. I didn't see the good, the bad, the laughs, the cries.

What I did see is you, bright and gold in the center of my thoughts. The very pillar of the well-being I had left.

And it's not wrong, that saying. It's not wrong at all, because you are life to me. My breath, and my everything, that was you. You and only you. The first and last thought, the last feeling before death came creeping up on me, devouring me in bite sized pieces, little by little.

I saw your flowy hair, your pretty lips, your wide-open and innocent eyes, and that nose I would boop just to piss you off.

You sang songs by the Carpenters during karaoke with a strong but soft and soothing voice, and I'd tell you I love you at every interlude only for you to giggle and nudge me with a joking resentment. So I'd do it again, and again, and again because it was so empowering to see you smile.

I saw our splash-fight by the ocean side. You're the one who started it, but you acted like I was the one who did, and you battled with me like the warrior you are. There was no stopping your competitive nature until I wrapped you in my arms and threw you over my shoulder like a scene for those sappy movies.

I recalled the very moment I realized that I have learned the meaning of forever, because you were its epitome. That day we were eating out, and you slurped up your noodle-dish like you haven't ate in months. I knew right then that you were the one. It just hit me and I couldn't be more sure that what we had was meant to be.

That's why I'm sorry that I'm not going to make it. I can't wake up. I don't know what it is, but it's different than the ordinary mornings that my eyes just open and I go on like I've done every single day before. I can hear my heart --it's being monitored by a machine-- but it's getting slower, and noise in general is entirely fading out.

I can't even say goodbye to you. That bothers me, that I can't see you one last time. That I can't feel you, but in some way, it also doesn't. It doesn't because I know it would be the hardest goodbye I've ever have to bid.

I'm not gone yet, but I miss you already. I wish you were here, hugging me. I'm not ready to go and I guess I'm trying to tell myself that if you were at my bedside, I'd be awaken by teardrops like I was some anime character that didn't exist. I guess I'm not giving a wake up call space to be a wake up call.

I don't like reality anymore, if it's taking me away from you. There's not a word to describe how much I despise it in any language in this world, and I know that for a fact. It disturbs me to know that all those times I was in a corny mood and I'd tell you that I think of you non-stop or that you appear in my dreams -- it's not something I'll be able to say to you for very much longer.

What happens when I die? What will I be then? A man beneath the ground that left on unfortunate and unexpected circumstances? A man that's the reason behind your pain? The heaviness and emptiness in your heart? Your tears? Am I really going to go from part of a pair that did everything together, that has a beautiful future to come to absolutely nothing?

No, no. I can't accept that.

I'm the one who caught your tears. I lifted you when you were down and I made you laugh when you thought you couldn't. I'm the one who held your hand and promised never to let go. I was there when you were sick, when you just woke up, when you were going to bed and I've seen for myself that you were an angel from heaven. My angel from heaven.

I can't be the one who makes you cry. I can't be the one who makes you sad or that makes you sob. I can't be the one that breaks his promises and let's go of you. I can't leave you alone when you're sick, or in the early morning until the late night. I can't be a devil to you. I can't. I can't do such a thing. That's not me.

But how do I not die? How do I stay with you when my situation is confirmed to be hopeless? If I can't imagine leaving you behind, why do I have to?

Please wake me up, my love.

Save me.

TUESDAY

I'm scared, baby. Is that okay?

I know you don't take me to be that kind of guy. I'm not usually like this, but right now, I can't help myself. I'm alone with my own head, my own thoughts and slowly everything is powering down. Powering down too soon.

I can feel it. I can feel not being able to do anything about it, too. Can't we agree that that's the absolute worse combination? Most people would be afraid of that, wouldn't they?

We're all afraid of things we haven't done before. Death isn't exactly something I've gotten to become "good" at, and I wasn't supposed to give it my first and last until so many decades into the future, but I'm here now, grazing the darkness, so close to falling entirely into it and letting it wrap me up, but I'm praying. I'm praying that I'll be caught in mid-air, that I'll be shown light again, that I'll stand back up on my own two feet, on the soil of this earth I barely ever paid any attention to, let alone appreciate.

Life has so much good. Everywhere, I was surrounded by things I took for granted and that I thought I would have forever and ever. But I was so wrong. I've always known very well that I wasn't immortal. That time passes and that the only thing that went on was the ticking of the clock, but it didn't click. I didn't realize that it was so temporary, short.

I've been robbed. Robbed in a way I didn't even comprehend until I had to.

I want to go back to the time I had the pleasant surprise of seeing you show up on my doorstep. I knew it would be you because of the way you would knock --it was gentle and delicate but also fierce, a signature that gave away the person that you were-- and I'd be giddy in my footprints over to let you in, but happier when I saw your face.

It kills me emotionally too, thinking about these things. I know you're too far away to come be by me at a time like this. It'd take a boat or a plane to get here on short notice and maybe you're even on your way anxious to make it on time, yet I'm in tears anyway. I'm not sure if anyone can see them, or if they're only there in my mind, but night after night I feel alone. I feel this emptiness in my heart, that's unfathomable to anyone unless it's been experienced. Yes, there's doctors, there's nurses, there's the click clack of walking in the hallways, --people once cluttered around me, trying to awaken me-- but I'm alone because you're not here.

And how dare me to have to do the same to you from here on? How dare me not be there for you? You're the one who brought out the best in me. You revived someone in me that I haven't met before, someone that I didn't know I was capable of being. My soul was finally light, not weighed down by the many burdens, and I found reason to live, reason to wake up in the morning, a reason for a more lively me. A movie screen love, that even Hollywood would be jealous of. That was us.

That was us, wasn't it? It's supposed to still be that way. I can't let go of that kind of perfection. Anyone would be stupid to. Anyone would be stupid to part ways from some as beautiful and kind-hearted as you.

I need to fight for me so that I can fight for us.

I can't go down without trying.

Don't you need me like I need you?

WEDNESDAY

Remember that time we had our very first fight? We were a lot younger then --not that we're not young anymore-- and maybe a bit immature, though I mostly speak for myself there, and we really thought that we were over. It was painful at the time, but now we tend to look back on that day and find it funny that we made a big deal about the whole thing. It didn't have anymore value than childish banter that explodes in the books and on television, but shouldn't necessarily have to take a toll on a real life couple.

The reason I mention it is because I find it beautiful every time I recall it, how we came back together and how we trudged on forward. It once felt like the end of the world. I would've sworn that everything had fallen apart, but it wasn't anything like that at all. It was a little dip in the road, on a path with ditches, holes and entire oceans we had to cross, and we had no idea back then. We had not a clue, but look at us. We made it pretty far, didn't we?

But that little dip that we got over at the very beginning? It all started because of a disagreement. We were raised very differently, so it was bound to happen eventually. After all, it takes someone outside of our family to compare ourselves to to notice that some things we may do in our lives are just plain weird or strange, and it happened to be us that were thrown together to figure out what those eyebrow-creasing habits or standards would be.

I grew up with pretty book-cover of a family. To the outside world, it looked perfect and praising, but when it would be opened up there was an ugly truth creeping behind the long grasses. We looked like the textbook or Google searches of happiness made up out of thin air, and it didn't shape my standards in the best of ways, but one thing I was always proud of is celebrating anniversaries.

My parents, they might not have expressed their love for each other every single day, but they would set this one day aside to celebrate and on that day specifically everything was good and made the heart seem it was okay again. Like there was a chance. Like there was a new beginning, and I would be fooled every single time.

You weren't raised that way. Your parents loved each other. You got the rare sweetness in toxic perimeters, but the thing was, they didn't make a big deal about anniversaries in the least. They celebrated their relationship every day of the week, and when their special day would come up, they wouldn't make a big exaggeration out of it whatsoever. It was a normal day for them. A normal lovely day to love, to cherish, to treasure.

And maybe that's the way I should've thought about you too. Maybe I should've been happier that we had a bond that didn't necessarily have to be a set of 24 hours where we had gateway to be clinking celebratory wine glasses about. Maybe I should've better understood you and been glad to be able to have someone like you in the first place, or maybe I should've been man enough to understand why your perspective was so different than mine instead of jumping to conclusions, but at the time, I guess, sad to say, that wasn't enough for me.

I got angry because of an old wooden box. It sounds like nothing, and if I was able to talk to you about this right now, I know you'd already be in one of your fits of hysterical laughter before I've even actually begun, but it's the truth. I got angry over nothing but an old wooden box with strange stickers and terrible scratches.

It's strange to say, even to this date. I don't know whether to laugh at myself or beat myself up.

I left this thing at your place one night. I had left it on your kitchen table, and I was excited to see your reaction when you opened it in front of me, but when I left and came back, it was gone. You were busy, and you got caught up in a lot of work that in the meantime, so it got misplaced in the process. When I mentioned it, you thought I was joking, which was understandable because I joke around too much for my own good. After all, what would I see in a trashy box?

But it was never about the box. It was about what was inside it.

One thing was the ring that you bought me. Silver in color, but definitely not real silver, that you gave to me when we were passing by a few shops in town. It didn't cost much, but it was worth every peso that you had left, and you were embarrassed about it, constantly telling me that it would probably turn my finger green and that I didn't have to keep it since it wasn't real. I kept insisting that I loved it, even though I don't think you believed me, and I really did mean it.

With all my heart. How could I forget one of our very first 'I love you's and our first kiss? That was the day you gave it to me. I couldn't sell that ring for a million even if it was only a Ring-Pop from those machines you pop a quarter into in the shopping malls.

There was also the bow-tie you bought me. I didn't usually wear bow-ties if I ever put on a suit, because I always thought neck-ties matched be better, but I wore that one the very day that I got it. I was always careful that it didn't get dirty and when the time came that there was a near incident that it did, I put it in the box for its own safety.

You bought it on a date we had after a carnival. We were heading to get ice cream afterwards and you saw it in the shop window. I have a ridiculous picture of me, and a beautiful picture of us together to prove it too from those booths. You were all smiley and this stunning happy pill, and I was wearing a bow tie with the casual hoodie that I wore everywhere.

If people didn't know the story, it would be odd. Maybe it was odd regardless, but you brought that out of me, and it was the real me, so it was a good thing.

A few months later, you found that box in your closet. You went through it, and suddenly you understood. You knew what my big fuss was about and so instead of thinking to mail it to be and call it the end, you came to my doorstep to deliver it personally. Once I saw you, I knew that when I had the chance, I wasn't going to screw it up.

My house was cold without you in it. It never felt like home.

We talked a while about what we were. The fun memories that we had. The cute ones, the hot ones, the stupid ones, the roller-coaster ones. We laughed, we cried, and we laughed some more and between us, that fire came back. That spark that I wasn't able to ignite when you vanished.

The spark that I'd never be able to ignite if you were away.

And recalling it, all I can think is 'sorry'. I'm sorry that I wasted time being angry with you instead of talking through it and understanding each other. I'm sorry that I let myself lose you even if it wasn't forever.

Because at a time like now, that gap in our memories being filled would've meant a lot. Sure, it wasn't an ocean, or even a puddle. It was just a small dip in our journey, but filling it -- it would've meant everything.

We deserve more time together. I know that we do.

Is there a better explanation of 'life isn't fair'?

THURSDAY

We never even comprehended death.

We were aware of it, of course. We suffered our own losses and knew too well, honestly, what it meant to grieve and to mourn and to feel like if we were able to tear our hearts out, it would all feel better. We knew well what it felt like to think that it would feel a whole lot more better to be numb instead of to hurt, but never did we think of an ending for us. Even when we had our disagreements, I like to think at least for me, there was always that part of us that never let go.

We didn't know what a last page meant. We didn't think it was coming anytime soon, and we expected to be able to watch each other grow old and get what those songs were about when they said life and love only got more charming when it was real. Dying never really crossed our minds, one hundred percent either. While we were together, we were immortal. We could swear we would live forever. Even if we didn't think about it, having to sleep our permanent sleep, it never actually clicked, you know?

Apparently our ending was in sight and it's because of me. I have to go too soon, but I promise you, I didn't want it to be this way.

I guess after everything happens, all we are are tiny fragments of time. It's the building block of us, and what we are able to do with ourselves, and that's that. We are made out of an amount of time that we are unable to control. It gives out on us when we think it's going to keep up standing. Even when we were so deeply in the middle of experiencing our hearts finally being so full again of this magic, this love that a lot of people aren't lucky enough to find.

We find the thing that we would never be willing to give up no matter how much it cost us, and at the snap of the fingers, it has to happen. I have to leave. I have to go back to the dust.

You were an angel to me, darling, and it makes me wish that I didn't have to come and go so quickly. It makes me wish that I can hold the hand of that angel for another hundred years, a thousand, and if that's too much to ask for, even a day, an hour, a minute. I need something more with you. Something more before I have to drift away. Something to remember exactly how special I felt in my life and made me feel valuable in a world of agonies.

If only you could find a way that you didn't have to give me up. If only I could find a way that I didn't have to do this to you. We live in a messed up place. That beauty that's out of touch or out of our league after searching person after person, flipping stone after stone, and that's finally been found has to be returned to the waters too abruptly.

A sinking crystal, back into a lake of muck and of algae hidden in sand and in dirt.

It's not right, I tell you. It's really not.

Is there nothing we can do about it?

Can the earth stop spinning for one second? Can life pause so that I can love you?