I'll tell you. You probably read this. This is the only thing I'm certain of.
Hope told me to chin-up. He told me not to give up even if deceit is staring dead in my face and is about to shoot me pointblank. Back before, every time I texted. Sometimes I get a reply, hours later, half an hour later, days later. Whatever it was, I used to smile. Sometimes I don't even get a reply, and I feel sad. Because I don't know if you read it and didn't bother to reply, just because I don't matter. I remember how you used someone and faked a rltnshp to run me over and get me to fuck off, pronto. I didn't go. I was about to until. Well until I made a good friend.
You thought they were rumours.
Until I told you.
Jeez, I really didn't know what got into me, liking you. Back then it was all Toothpick. Now he's vanished.
Big Ben told me one thing. They text you when they're happy. Otherwise, you're just a rough wooden stick up the ass. It was light in a dark room for me. I swear. Then I told myself No, go. So I tried. Feets broke my hairband and passed it to you. It was broken, taped with Scotch tape. I remember the class gathering outside, I was so scared. Feets dragged you to me. I hugged onto a wall. I was happy. I was nervous. I was scared. Sigh.
Then came the message. Near National Day. 1:43AM. 7 August. I remember. Because I cried like hell. It was worse than getting a Rejection letter from Oxford. Worse than tarnished dreams. Worse than being bald because you failed at cooking. Oh well maybe not. But still. Sad. But I kept strong. I convinced my closest friends I was a-okay. But was I? Hell no.
Racial Harmony Day. Everyone gathered around the center garden. You saw me, I saw you, I saw her.
You moved closer to her. On purpose. Everyone laughed at me. I wanted to hop over the railing and just die. I hated you.
So then there were the occasional jog-bys. They were awesome. I remember the first one so vividly as if it just happened. It was about eight. You wore a beige tee and I was still in my uni. I was so happy. For a moment. Then I stared at my Subway sandwich. What The Fuck was I thinking? Yeah. That's right.
Then there were the second one, the third. Not as memorable. There aren't any anymore.
I remembered the first time I knew you started to smoke. It uncovered one reason why I liked you. You were clean, you were sensitive, you were clear. I was so broken. Science was the first period. I wanted to cry. I wanted to fall to pieces. Then I thought of 7th August. I've already been crumpling. I'm already torn. What more is Cupid going to throw at me? Whitney played SJM's Super Girl for me. I asked if you smoked. You said just three. I couldn't feel anything for the rest of the day. I bet everyone was wondering why I was so sad. He's just another smoker.
Two messages. Again at 1. Telling me not to have a bad impression.
My eyes were sore from the previous night. I wanted to throw my phone from my 3m high bunker. I wanted to sob and jump off my bed. Stick my middle finger to the world and tell it I'm done, I quit. But I can't.
Then there were exams. MYE. You saw my sadness. My fucking up. Told me to stay strong and the end is near. The failed Sports Day. You tapped my shoulder. I could see it in your eyes. I already wanted to run.
She made the call.
I sprinted with my life.
I saw you.
I ran up the stairs. Adrenalin rushing.
You were gone.
She called you again.
"I don't need her now."
So Hope came back.
Everytime I talk to him I feel confident.
Now.
Not quite.
I thought I was clean of feelings.
Not quite.
I thought I was ready to move on.
Still holding back.
I'm confused, okay.
I tell myself this and my heart is following.
Ugh, training tomorrow. I just want to lay in bed watching British movies all day.
I've been crumpled, torn apart, thrown aside and ignored.
What more can I be. I thought I was crazy, desperate, insane, obsessed. But I was infatuated.
I thought I was cursed to be stuck in a place I can't get out of. Instead I was putting a who-was-a-complete-stranger-back-then into completed endued torture. Sigh.
At least Hope got rejected in the face.
Me? I'm still hanging. On the line.
There are dropped, rejected, weeping bodies underneath the line.
And there are the ones who are living well, sometimes there are tears and they morph into heavy rain clouds and drop. And become the broken. But who said Otherwise didn't happen.
"Oh author of the moment... can you tell me? Do I end up happy?"
UGH