three years

8:27 pm was the time my dad came home tonight. he walked past me without looking, carrying his ugly grey plastic briefcase and wearing his old striped shirt. i barely noticed him, of course, because i was engulfed once again by my thoughts about you. distant memories that i’ve tried so hard to get rid of, buried deep inside the void of my heart and mind, resurfaced once again. slowly at first, then like a tidal wave. overwhelming as it was, i was expecting it to sting, if not be painful, but it wasn’t.

three years have passed since you last talked to me. three years since you cut me off from your life, three years since you left me. no warning, no notice, no goodbye, just your warring silence for my bypassed messages. i’d be lying if i said i forgot you quickly, because i spent the next year and a half brooding and blaming myself, waiting for a message from you, an answer, an explanation why you left at least, but nothing. you were the first boy i cried over, and i’ve never felt so foolish and so vulnerable in my entire life. you didn’t care, of course, because you kept living your life as if nothing happened, as if everything was so temporary, as if you could talk to me today and be my friend then be gone the next. but that’s exactly what you did.

and now, three years later, here you are with a message saying hi, asking how i am, as if it were so easy for you, as if you could just message me like that and expect i’d take you in that quickly, as if i’d put down my walls again to let you in once more. and if i may, let me say, how dare you reach out to me now? how dare you try to communicate with me after putting me at arm’s length for years? how dare you surface in my life once again after everything you’ve done to hurt and spite me? one thing is for sure: i have no respect left for you.

when you left, i wrote questions on paper. questions that i wanted to ask you but never got to, questions that i’d ask you if ever you came back. i waited and i waited and i waited until i realized you weren’t coming back, so i crumpled that paper into a ball and disposed of it. and i tried to heave myself up from my bed every morning, no matter how painful, just so i could be on time. and i tried to smile–faked every one of them–and i can’t even remember how long because i got so used to faking my happiness. and i tried to go through things without allowing them to remind me of you. and i had to be strong because i realized i was alone. and i had to scold myself and tell myself, “this is what you get when you trust someone.” and i tried to block the sound of your laugh from my head. i tried to change the way i write my letter M because i’ve been writing it the same way you wrote yours ever since i met you. and i avoided looking at the time because i knew thinking about time would bring me to thinking about you. and it was difficult, because i’ve spent half of my life thinking about time and what to do with it. and then you came and I didn’t have to think about what to do with my time anymore. and you don’t even know, you don’t even know, how many times i’d stare at the wall with your voice echoing in my head. you don’t even know the times i’d sit in the room and try to focus on the board and imagine you sitting with me, laughing with me. you don’t even know. and i tried to forget about time as i tried to forget about you, and i forgot about you as i stopped thinking about time, and the days sped on bearably. memories of you passed me by as if they were tiny gusts of wind–harmless. and that was the hardest thing i had to do–to stop thinking about time, stop thinking about you. i fear time; i fear something i cannot control and when i can’t control something, i obsess over it. you leaving me was uncontrollable–and just like time–i obsessed over your departure. in the hour between toss and turn, the hour of nostalgia and reminiscing, i’d find myself thinking bout you, thinking about you. and now, in my hours of slumber, i sleep with ease. with peace.

and here i am, thinking that i can finally live again. and here you are, like a ton of bricks, driving me into frustration and anger, and once again, hopeless confusion.

i don’t know what your motive is for reaching out to me. i don’t know what you want and i don’t think i want to know. you are three years too late. three years too late. i don’t deserve this shit. you are nothing but a piece of shit.

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