With him, everything is a test, affection is measured, that given weighed against that which has been received, and the balance, more often than not, disappointing him.— Adapted from Before I Go to Sleep, S.J. Watson
He leans across to look at me. I think how attractive he is, that if he had been less damaged, I might have been in real trouble.
“Will I see you again?” he says.
“No,” I reply. “No. It’s over.”
The image of us in bed crept into the back of my mind as I read that passage. Interestingly, different as we were, 同床不同梦 never applied to us because we were both after the same thing. It was a pure oversight on God's part for bringing two self-seeking souls together.
The clouds parted to reveal an orange yolk. The chirping birds witnessed your fingers intertwining with mine for the first time as we crumbled into each other’s arms. You firmly clasped my hands in yours and, with an occasional soft squeeze, silently reminded me that you were there.
For someone who never liked opening up, talking to you was, surprisingly, a cathartic release. Is it cliche of me to say I’m glad we met only after I was stripped of my innocence and credulousness? It would have caused a catastrophe — possibly one that you silently sought — otherwise.
An absurd thought crept into my mind as we watched the sun painted the buildings a dirty yellow — the second time that fortnight. Despite it being excruciatingly obvious we were never meant for the aisle, I wondered, for a fleeting moment, could I live with this forever?
After all, they say the brain is like a muscle that you need to keep active. You picked my brains, you gave me challenges, your mind worked quickly to compete against mine. And I liked being around you because it comforted me to know that someone is as messed up as I am, perhaps even more.
“Leave.”— Gone Girl, Gillian Flynn
“I can't. Not yet. She’ll never really let me go. She likes the game too much.”
“Then stop playing it.”
I can't. I'm getting so much better at it.
If grief were an image,
it would be that morning I softly ran my hand through someone else's hair,
and pretended it was yours.
I'm sorry.
-
Inspired by I Wrote This For You And Only You
The insufferable distance closed as he drew me in. He wrapped his arms around my waist and a familiar sense of longing enveloped me. Warm, safe, tender — what homes are made of. Damn, I thought, how did I get so lucky again. I found home. I never met a person worth staying for, then suddenly I had someone I wanted to return to. I sighed deeply. If this isn’t the epitome of trite and cliché…
Ravished by his sudden embrace, I revealed a beatific smile — a heartfelt one from deep within my heart — and in my chest, a psychedelic of fireworks threatened to burst anytime. The rush of adrenaline was repulsive in hindsight but in that moment, I was light-headed and saturated with euphoria. The bliss I radiated was palpable, unmistakable even to the blind.
But that’s what I was — blind.
I mistook affability for affection, solicitude for endearment, benevolence for passion. His blithe disregard for my wretched self was blatantly obvious. Etched in his heart was a mission for utter destruction yet he remained ecstasy to my credulous self.
When the next ray of sunshine streamed through my window 1923 kilometres away, the happiness I grew used to dissipate. It didn’t just vanish. No, that’ll be just too mellow, too merciful. Instead, the euphoria that cloaked me gradually waned. Fleeting, ebbing happiness — the kind I’m destined to have all my life. It faded, ever so gently. Just like how he once was with me.
The comforting voice that I sought solace in has lost its words. One moment I was high on love — that stupid morphine on steroids. The next, darkness swallowed me. Its raucous roar almost deafening, a relentless taunting. That sick, twisted, familiar ache in my stomach grappled what was left of me. The ever-growing, intense fear filled my lungs and crawled its way to my chest with an obstinate refusal to leave. The lump in my throat swelled; even swallowing was arduous.
He left nothing but lingering stains following his evanescence — an unyielding look of disdain in the mirror, and my friends’ assumption that my heartbreak will sink into oblivion eventually.
Memories are easily forgotten.
Photos inevitably fade.
Everything is impermanent.
Everything, but the triumvirate of fear, pain, and how I felt — insolently feel — towards him.
~
Inspired by the novel, The Girl On The Train.
 |
| Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl / Photo credit |
It's you.
After three years, your continual careworn expressions finally made sense to me and our late nights proved to be cathartic for me. We laughed over the same things and both agreed our dark sense of humour guaranteed us a place in hell.
Our ubiquitous chemistry was undeniable, even among mutual friends who thought our friendship was completely bizarre. We were but a madcap match that happened to come together via an equally peculiar twist of fate.
It began, abruptly but gradually.
You had no control over your situation. You're going away whether you liked it or not and I wasn't not sure if I could deal with another two years of that cycle again. Wavering faith or selfishness — whatever you call it — I was hesitant about waiting two years for an uncertain future.
Yet there I was, contradicting myself. You were the first person I wanted to run to with my good news. You were the one I wanted to share my joy and sorrow with. I was so distracted by the glitz and glamour in my life at that period of time that I failed to notice the glaringly obvious.
As rapidly as it began, it faded at a whirlwind speed too.
We were never anything to begin with. Just friends who were headed towards the same direction. Two lines made to cross paths with each other for a fleeting moment before leaving behind a longing sense of what could have been.
That day I let you walk out of my life.
My throat felt too tight, the words I should have spoken couldn't find their way through; I knew if I forced it, my cheeks would have been stained with tears. My palms grew wet — a natural occurrence whenever I get nervous.
Paralysed by indecision, I was deaf to everything except my beating heart, a sound that misled me into thinking what I had was real when in fact you were the only person at that point who genuinely wanted to help.
I should have spoken up that night but their words clouded my judgement and the worst thing is knowing that I allowed them to do so. Willingly. I have no one else to blame. I let others get to me when they didn't know what we had. I let their words thwart my decision in telling you the truth. A colossal mistake.
I never thought of apologising until it's too late. Till this day, I'm still a coward and I dare not even say this to you personally. I let my pride get in the way. I'm sorry.
I miss you.
