Sometimes I wonder why for 822 days, you were always on my mind. Not that you consumed me, not that you were my reason for breathing, but you were somewhere there. You were the lingering thought in my head for over two years. Maybe it was just too hard to let you go, even if there was really nothing that took place between us.
As much as I hate to admit it, ours was a fleeting romance through early morning text messages. A few meals shared together, a few gifts exchanged. Sidelong glances that lasted no longer than what people usually pay attention to interesting strangers, or dogs wearing sunglasses. There’s no use wondering about the what-could-have-been’s, if nothing ever took place. Was it my cowardice? Was it your reluctance? Was it Cupid’s arrow playing tricks? Was it just dumb – and damn – luck? I have absolutely no idea.
It still pains me to go to places where we shared at least one of those three-and-a-half minute conversations, which was by my watch, the longest we ever talked to each other one on one. For the longest time, memories of you were stuck in my head and tattooed on my mind. I was at emotional highs when we talked over the phone… for three-and-a-half minutes. I sank to an emotional low when I realized that in one of those crucial moments, I can’t stand by your side even just to hold your hand… and even in that moment, I realized that save for two embraces, I never really held your hand, ever.
Times have changed, years have gone by, and I was still stuck in the moment. I have absolutely no idea how many relationships you’ve gone through since then. You have absolutely no idea how many chances at romance I gave up. Not because of memories of you, but because of you. Because I wanted more than text messages and sidelong glances. But everytime I tried to enter the door… well, you know what happens.
Eight hundred and twenty-two days. You know as well as I do that there was more to what we were, and there was more to what we weren’t. So I just stuck with the “what we weren’t” part, and decided that Day 823 is best left to the memories. Left to the what-could-have-been’s and what-if’s, thrown to the wind, let go, and just… well, left alone.
Ours was definitely not love. Not in the general idea of it. Not in the sense that everyone agrees with. For someone who gets paid for knowing what the right word is to something, I sure as hell don’t know what it was.
All I know is that if it happened to anyone else, all 822 days of it, it will move me to tears… just to hear of a beautiful love story never told.
Postscript: This entry has been hanging around on my Drafts for exactly a month and eight days now. Somehow it’s only now that I managed to gather up the courage to post it, although it has already been finished for quite a while. To some extent, the antecedents are real.