You… the one who got away.
I seem to have forgotten all about you. I forgot how much I loved you then, how much of my precious time I have spent in either content bliss or blinding jealousy. I forgot how many times I wanted to talk to you in person, postponing it every day until, all of a sudden, I blew all my chances. I postponed that one chance to talk to you until I realized that somehow, you’re no longer mine even in dreams.
Damn, and really, I’ll be damned. Really, it could have been you and me, maybe you and me until we walk that aisle and say “I do.” But no, it never happened. It never will. I always thought that I’ll move on a couple of years and a half later, but I never really did. I’m still stuck with memories of you. They might as well tattoo your name on the deepest recesses of my brain, and name that tree after you.
Oh wait… you are. It’s so easy to spell your name, especially that I have to live with it every moment. Damn you.
Yeah, they say that there are many other fish in the sea. But the moment you got away, I wanted to get you back. Not just by casting my line into the very depths of the ocean hoping that you’ll bite into those promises I made, but I was all-the-more willing to dive in and risk drowning, looking for you whether the tide is low or not. So I just quit making promises. I just quit. But still, I cannot forget. I remember what you wore six and a half years ago when we first met. Dammit.
I don’t know if I’ll take another couple of years and a half to erase memories of you: after all, that’s the last time we talked. Since then, I avoided every opportunity to talk to you or to even see you. The bad thing is that I have to like it. Like everything else in the world, I can’t have everything I like, much less have anyone I love.
It could have been you and me, but that can never be. No matter what you say about me hurting you, deep in your heart, you know how much it really hurt me when you got away.