Frustrated with writer’s block, I opened drafts folder in my WordPress blog and I found a lot of unfinished posts inside that folder. I didn’t find much interesting stuffs (if it’s good enough, I would have finished the post and published it) until I found the following post. It was beautifully written and the only reason I didn’t publish the draft because it would reveal how I truly felt of someone I cared about back then. I’ve moved on from him for more than a year by now but I still want to publish this just because it’s too beautiful to be kept to myself! It’s also a beautiful reminder how I once genuinely cared about someone else.

April 7, 2017

I miss the moment when everything was right. When I still had hopes and thought, “What’s next?” When this feeling was beautiful, when I could smile alone as I thought of you.

I miss the way you look at me. A deep and warm look on your eyes. I miss the way you never took your eyes off me when I spoke to you. That kind of look in your eyes that made me feel like I was the only one.

I miss the way you took care the little things for me. I miss our long chats. I miss your jokes, our jokes; that only the two of us could understand.

I miss seeing your smile behind your lens when you took picture of me. I miss listening to you singing a song that made me felt like you were singing for me.

And did you know? I also miss your cranky face. Your cranky voice. It never ceased to amaze me how some random guys could turn your mood upside down, just like that.

I enjoyed all the little things, the ups and downs, the struggles, the hopes, until it’s all gone the day you told me that I was wrong. The day I started to think that everything I cherished, all the things that made me miss you like this, was not real.

Everything is broken and I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to come back from the pain. I don’t know which parts were real. I don’t know what I did so wrong we ended up like this.

I really want to be so angry with you, hate you, and just walk away. But no matter how much I despise everything you did, there’s always a part of me missing you. The old you. Or maybe, the illusion of you. I don’t know. If my memories were wrong, then I miss being wrong.

Tu me manques. I miss you.

Back to 2018: I read this and I told myself, “Oh I’m a damn good writer, hehehehehe.”