We failed

movingcarsThe agony of knowing her surpasses that of losing her. It’s only when I remember how we used to walk together in that quiet street that it kills me to realize we shall never walk alone any time soon. Her picture, the one when she’s gazing at the camera, lost as the cars pass her by; it tears me into pieces every time I come across it knowing I shall never escort her while crossing the street ever again. Someday, for all I care, she might get run over while crossing with her usual negligence, me not there to forcefully stop her before she hits the ground.

And would it really matter to me if she dies? Would it really break my heart to know I can no longer see her alive? What difference would it make when right now; I can no longer see her alive even though we’re both breathing on the same planet, in the same country, within the same city? Would her death give me the closure that’s been shaking me out of slumber? I doubt.

I feel like committing suicide whenever I remember our last meeting; her so cold, me so seemingly indifferent. Why does it always have to be that way? Why can’t we both be brave enough to face our demons for once? Why do I have to dream on and on about meeting her, all that we’re going to do, all that I’m going to say, the stories I have to share with her, the questions I should ask her, only to be faced with a blank reality? Why do things theoretically easy prove to be of such difficulty in practice?

Why didn’t I seize her that last night? In the cool, fresh air, why didn’t I just hijack her seemingly pleasant stay with my presence regardless of how much she would’ve welcomed it? But … I sort of did. Didn’t I go over to say hi? Didn’t I take a seat by the edge of the couch she was occupying only to have her withdraw from any conversation that might involve the two of us? Only to find her packing up and leaving, just like that?

Why didn’t I stop her? Why didn’t I just run after her, grab her by the arm and have her face me once and for all? Why didn’t I just pour my heart to her, tell her all that I feel, explain to her how much it hurt to be around her while she was acting so cold, how frustrating it is to be met with such treatment after months of dreaming about this encounter? I could’ve even gotten violent with her had I been met with that obstinate stare, this heartless silence!

Sometimes I feel she needs to feel physical pain in order to understand what she’s putting me through. Like that night on the roof, when she was acting like a bitch, trying her best to break me, I didn’t come to peace until I had spit my anger at her face next morning; telling her how upset I was about her taking off without saying goodbye so, punching her in the arm for it. I could tell her arm hurt by the fuzziness that took over my chest once my fist smashed her.

I could’ve done it all over again that night, I could’ve told her about the agony her absence brings about, about all the different pains she causes me by leaving unannounced so, by disappearing on and on, dodging one after the other chance of having us see each other. I could’ve roused her to awareness by a pinch in the arm, a slap on the face even if necessary, anything that would bring sanity back to that stubborn head of hers.

But … but she wouldn’t have understood. The message wouldn’t have easily hit home the way it did that distant Friday morning, simply because that morning came after a full month of seeing one another on a daily basis. No couple of people could get along better than we two had done during that heavenly month. Nobody could understand me the way she used to. Nobody could read her mind and cope with her mood swings better than I did. Therefore, when I hold her accountable for any pitfalls our relationship could be going through, she would accept the notion and quite possibly understand it even.

Yet when my first private conversation with her after over two months of absence involves needy words like, “how could you leave without saying goodbye?” or “how could I be right in front of you yet not come forward to me with all your latest news? All your worries? All the things currently making you happy?” She would’ve stared back in oblivion, possibly wondering who’s that stranger who’s expecting so much of her.

It’s a lost cause. I’ve lost her forever. What better way to have it finally hit home than recall that last encounter? What better mechanism to help me face it than imagine any kind of future we could share under the circumstances we’re currently going through?

It doesn’t matter if somebody is your soulmate. If you’re not both willing to give it your all to make things work, any relationship bringing you two together would most inevitably fail.

We failed.


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