When The Past has a Callback

WEDNESDAY

Remember that show we used to binge watch when our schedules happened to match up on rainy afternoons? For so long, when we formed an emotional bonds to a world that wasn't even real, we were twisted into the logic that nothing good comes after 2 a.m. We lived those words pretty seriously for a span, locked down in our homes on different pieces of land, and we worked hard to convince ourselves to act rationally because we weren't kids anymore.

We were adults. Baby adults, but most definitely adults, starting to make a life for ourselves. Just starting. It was barely beginning for us, but we were there. We made it to that point. That far. It was a spot in our lifetimes that we began to understand the meaning of the dreams we thought up when we were young. Things were looking up. Things were getting serious. Real.

But then we learned as we watched on that to every rule there is an exception. There always is. You can't find it if you're searching for it, yet when it comes along, you know. There's no doubt about it. It's there and that's that. What was never sought would officially be found.

With that perspective, for me, I can recall exactly what that moment was. It was a turning point to what living and staying alive meant. What the difference and similarities were, and it was an understanding to where I was going. Where I wanted to be in the nearest future. The one that I could see up in the distance.

I tend to be a very nervous person. I haven't usually been the most laid-back. I've been soft-spoken and at times it made me feel about two inches tall. That's why I couldn't help but to like my comfort zone. I didn't want to leave it most of the time, and it would take something big that could get me to crawl myself out of it in the first place. Many times, you had to comprehend that and comprehend it again, the hard way each and every time, but I was never a buzzkill to you.

You saw my shyness countless times, and in my mind, that couldn't be changed. In my experience, jumping outside of that box only led to regret and to disappointment. People always like to say how worth it is to take the leap, and how valuable the ticking wait is that it takes to get there, but to me, it's constantly stung, touching my tongue like a lemon. Sure, there may be several wasted moments, but I wasn't hung up on it since I didn't put my mind to what those moments were. I was accepting of being kept in the dark and letting the moment pass.

I thought that sometimes oblivion was a good thing, and that that would apply to me for as long as I would live. I thought that, until I couldn't anymore.

Once upon a time, I couldn't kiss anyone. I took note of everything -- everything that could go wrong or that would set me off. I would pay attention to how another person's pace when they spoke didn't match to the beating inside my chest and I'd end up keeping my distance. I'd consider them to dry and too chapped up, possibly scabbed, or maybe how fast they moved and how they would never give me the chance to jump in if I wanted to. Then, even still, I'd think about how awkward it would probably be if we did touch -- and how it would probably be spiky and painful rather than smooth and gentle, just because it was me.

I'm no Hollywood star. Not at all.

But you were different. I can't put my finger on exactly how, but you were surely different. Those kind of worries faded to zero, and it didn't matter anymore. I didn't have to stare at your lips to want to kiss them. There could be the flaws I looked out for ever since all over you, and it wouldn't bother me one bit. If there were, I didn't notice anything. Not for a second.

No, it didn't matter how fast your mouth moved when you spoke, or how many times your tongue would have to run over them in attempts to soothe them without lip balm. It didn't matter how much space was between us, or if we were sitting a soft sofa or a rocky-type of irritating sand. It didn't matter what sweet treats you'd gobble up at the last seconds before we neared. What mattered is you and the way your hands spoke to me, placed delicately against my thigh or snapping to a melody I didn't hear until you brought it up.

And most importantly, that you could bear --and in fact happily, be looking at me, managing to find something there to admire. The one thing in this world that I always shuddered to have to see, you stared at it willingly, contently, and I just knew it's what made me skip a beat. How could it not? How could I keep my composure when it was your breath against my skin and your expressions brushing against me proof that you were smiling? How could I keep myself together when your laughter literally became mine? Seriously, how could I come out just fine when I was the reason behind your double take?

I chose to be honest with you, even back when I was a first-timer, and it wasn't the least bit embarrassing. I said it to your face, that this was something I've never done, both so you wouldn't expect much and so that I could see your genuine reaction hearing the news. You being you, weren't the kind to make me feel like I was behind on my milestones, but instead made me more eager than I was to kiss you. Between the "well this will be my first time kissing you too's" and the "is it okay if I go on's" I felt safe, so much that ready to take on the world wasn't an exaggeration.

It's not like I was able to conquer the world right then and there, but I was able to conquer you. You and the lava cake that you were determined to devour. I forgot my nervousness. I forgot the shyness and every last drop of anticipation, even more so when I tasted not only the chocolate you left seemingly purposely for me, but how badly you've wanted this, and how kind you were to wait until the moment that I was one hundred percent ready for it.

Why yes, right then and there, time froze. The moment was the missing puzzle piece that you search the box and then the house for when you've finished the other ninety-nine pieces. I got it. I understood why people look forward to this, but I also understood that it only works for a person like me if the person on the receiving end is the perfect match. If that person is the one.

I don't really know if it was perfect. I don't know what perfect means, especially when it comes to this, but to me, I couldn't find a flaw. Besides, if I ever did find one along the way, I assumed that we would have forever to alter and improve it.

Maybe we don't have forever like we thought, but we did learn. That's a fact.

We learned that fiction and reality, there's truly an exception to every rule.

You have been the only thing good to happen to me after 2 a.m., but more than that, you're the only person to ever exist that I longed for your lips.

And that's on science.

Chemistry.

THURSDAY

I think I have to take this for what it is. I'm not seeing that there's much use in fighting anymore. I mean, why fight when every pathway leads in the same direction, sparing not much extra time to simply think about what it means to live rather than what it means to die? Why fight when every effort will lead me in pretty much the exact same place? If I can only grasp a few more seconds and not years, is it that big of a deal?

I'll accept it, since it's the most I can do now. I've taken a mental note, and it's not in pencil. Not at this point. It's engraved into my brain like rock, yet left to bleed until it's entirely over just like that. I've finally wrapping my head around it. I'm getting it. I've realized that the lifetime I've lived so full of love, is by a love I wasn't meant to be loved.

No, no. I'm not meant to be loved this way.

I'm simply me, nothing special about it. I'm not the lead of a movie that finds that perfect person and I'm not the type who magically is admired, even by the ones that hate every human on the planet. I'm not especially good at talking to the extent I have power behind my words, and I'm not cute and most certainly not attractive.

Eyes skip out on me despite meeting in a crowded room, and I know that that's the way it has to be because I've seen myself in the mirror and nobody has to tell me that there's not much to look at. Heck, it hurts me to have to look at myself, as much as I wish it didn't. I share the hatred for me, myself, and I that everybody else does. As a child I already noticed that I wasn't someone that would make another go out of their way for them. I wasn't someone who was meant to be wanted as friend or as lover. I don't and have never held that kind of worth.

And then came you. Maybe that was a glitch. Maybe that's why I'm here. I always had the feeling it was too good to be true. It makes sense that the rug is pulled out from underneath me. I shouldn't expected it all along, from the beginning. I should've known that it would come to this.

I mean, you've seen me. What good things honestly come to mind? What do you look at that peaked your interest in the first place, and why can't I see it too? Were you just being nice? It was so real and so heartfelt, but I can't help to think it. Sure, the version of you that I've come to learn and come to love would be angered by such pessimistic thinking, but it's easier to say I could brush it off than to actually do it.

Either way, I'm sorry I'm a mess. I'm sorry a lot to work with. I'm sorry that this is the way it is, but my past perspectives are sneaking back up on me. My laziness has been inescapable these days and my body is probably hitting imperfection more than it ever has. I feel like I'm incapable of life, and with being incapable of life comes being incapable of love and eternity.

I want to look past that. I want everyone to look past it, and I want to sit up with a strong mind and a strong heart, and take on the world. I want to whip through it with force and with speed and catch people off guard or by surprise. I don't want what I've become to go to waste, down the drain and into a pile in the landfill. I don't want the world to hate me when I was so, so close to the finish line. I don't want to be ignored. I don't want to be upset anymore. I don't want to be angry at what I've come to. I don't want to be afraid.

I want to be loved. Loved by you. Seen. Seen by you, and I want to see you right back. I just want to take a moment to stare into the eyes I fell in love with, but that person feels like a me from a fever dream. A person whose no longer real and whose past and complete identity is one big blur of confusion and loss, even. I want to feel pretty like I used to when we were together. I want to stop being a blob of difficulty on everyone who has stood by me. I want to rise one more time at the very least.

I want to remember. I want to relive.

But what does that take?

FRIDAY

It's true what people say. You don't know what it's like until you've been there. You can never say you understand someone's pain, unless you've been there yourself, and honestly, even then, you can't really say so. Everyone's experience is different. Not one is ever the same. I guess some people come closer to understanding someone else than another may, but nobody --nobody totally and fully can wrap their head around it.

This is the lesson that I've come to. I'm on the fence of life and death, and it's only now that I'm allowed to say that and not be exaggerating, so here it goes, which I will say with pride.

Materialistic values are stupid. It's idiotic that we allow ourselves to be so immersed in money and in physical things. It's a waste of space and it's a waste of time within our minds that are made for so much more than that kind of selfishness and greediness. Of course, we hear these words a billion times since the day that we're born, and we're probably tired of it by now. We think we get it. We think we've taken those words to heart.

We haven't. I have by now, and I hope that somehow you can figure out how to take it from me.

Just look at me. Just look, and you'll see with ease that riches don't matter anymore. That was never who I was. It wasn't as valuable as we like to think that it is. I'm nothing to do with the things that I own. Money never defined how much I was worth, but you know what has?

It's simple. We need to stop acting like we need our entire life spans to figure it out when it's been right in front of us all along. I know who I am and this is all it came down to:

I'm the movies that I've watched recent and long ago. The ones that had us up all night bickering over the actors and characters that we got obsessed with (Barney Stinson -- we're both thinking it, don't try to pretend it's not true), when we both knew darn well that the reality was they'd have nothing to do with us, even if our paths did cross for a couple of seconds. I'm the people I spent my time with, and the usual order I got when we went out to eat at the cafe one over from the corner. I'm the songs that I listened to when I thought about you.

I'm the person who never let a dare slip by even if it did take three sunsets for me to take it on. I'm the clothes I wore no matter how much I hated them because I wanted to show I was thankful to my parents and my sister for buying them for me. I'm the lies that I've lived, much like that one. Some were tiny little white lies that didn't make me feel so bad, and some of them were dark and evil that poked at my conscience until I came clean.

I'm the shampoo, conditioner and body wash that I started to use when you got fed up with me using 3-in-1, and I'm who bowed my head to you when it was you I had to credit for my thankful hair, scalp and skin. I'm the too many candy, gum and mint wrappers in my pocket that you'd throw at my face when you found them, and I'm the pesos you'd find in there that you'd keep so that you could get your own from the tiny machines in the mall.

To this day, I don't think you know that I knew about that. Guess you'll never find out.

I'm the endings in books that I utterly despised, and the endings in books that I loved with all my being. I'm the pages that I flipped through that motivated me, the ones that made me look forward to the future. The ones that made me meditate, and think about myself, about getting out of the dark times to reach for the clouds from the tip of the mountains. I'm the thoughts that won't let me sleep at night, and the morning acceptance of a new day when I didn't want to wake up. I'm my bad days and my good days both, and I'm the happiness that squeezed me so tightly it made me go mad.

I'm muddy waters, but also sunset-reflected seas. Gold medals, pixie dust, and rotten wood.

I'm a combination of my parents that you fell in love with. I'm the facial features that I hate, like my imperfect nose and my crooked teeth that made me shy to smile. I'm the people I used to be friends with back in elementary school, but who I haven't talked to ever since. I'm a broken person who searched until I was able to feel whole again. I'm wonderful in the way that that's what makes me unique, fractured in places that nobody else is.

Haven't you realized that shattered pieces of glass never break the same?

I'm a person who changed as they grew up. I'm the very epitome of confusion and uncertainty. I'm the angels that vow to do good, and I'm the demons that still haunt me. I'm a being of freewill. I'm the existence of my own wishes.

And that's how I prefer to be remembered if my dead-end is as finalized as can be.

SATURDAY

I can't keep lying. I want one last time. I've admitted it over and over, but I always come back on it because it's too hard to grasp the thought. It's prickly and it makes my skin bleed. It's painful.

There's no more 'last times' coming up. Huh. Funny how even that is too much to ask.

I never expected that that would be the most that I ask for. Nobody ever does, do they? And they shouldn't have to. Life isn't supposed to be perfect as for now, but it's supposed to be dandy enough. Livable with the right people. I'm a fortunate person to be able to say I've gotten to feel that. I guess I'm lucky to be able to have something that's hard to let go of. That's what we all strive for, right?

That doesn't mean it's basic to follow through with. That's life for you, right there, and apparently death too. Opposite sides of the coin aren't as opposite as we tend to believe. Tie that altogether and it's common sense that I'd want one more last time.

And another, and another, and another.

I want to share the story of what this is like, so that I don't have to go through it alone. I'm the smallest pinch away from begging to whatever is out there to allow me to talk to my family and my friends again, and to share a moment with them like I did way back when. I want to talk about how my mind is flying and I want advice on how to make it stop sometimes because it gets way too hard to be tied up to myself like this.

I want to share one more cup of coffee with you, that I would give in to getting because there was a new limited drink where we were regulars at, and you would want to try it, while not giving up on your usual. I want to look back on us when the indie songs play overhead, as if they're telling the very story that we've had from beginning to present.

I want to get intertwined in the passion you have for books and films that have been concealed as the world's little secret, so that you have someone to talk to about them when nobody else got into them with you. I want to enjoy that with you, so that we can put ourselves into ink and audios that only we can relate to in the way that we do. I want to do that until light starts to sneak into the window, and I want to feel that "oh crap" moment that seeps into our bloodstream like unavoidable but tasty poison that we pretend to hate, and yet don't regret.

I want another laugh, and heck, maybe even another cry if it at least meant we got to spend some extra time together because I know for sure that a bad day with you would be better than a good day with somebody else. I want more minute of the glowing proof that comes along when we're together. The kind that expresses how flawlessly we understand each other, as if we've made home within each other's skull. I want a day to talk about life and death like we used to when everything was okay, and I want to be seen the way that you saw me when we talked about the deep topics that people tend to avoid.

I want the ordinary days to feel special again. I want the 'precious' aspect of life to come back, the kind that only you knew how to bring. I want to know that that's still out there, and that it's not fading, even if it's not going to always be for me.

I want to be the only person you felt right to call when it was hours passed midnight to find the consolation you were digging for whatever it may be. The spider that crawled out of your bathtub's drain? A horrid nightmare? What you thought was a gunshot that turned out to be a firework? Something else?

Yes, I want you to disturb me again, with only droplets of regret when you did it because you were too excited to talk to me. I want that brightness in you to rub off on me like it once did, so much that I can forget that I'm tired due to the energy in your voice. I want you to do everything that's driven me crazy, pet peeves and all. I want you to irritate me until the earth stops spinning.

I want all of that, but each of those things go back to one thing, one terrible impossibility.

I need you, but I'm alone, and my death has to be done by myself. You can't come with me, and I wouldn't allow you to if you could.

Soon, I'll have to go. Last words, last memories, last laughs, last cries -- they've already been done whether we like it or not.

Is there any proper way to say goodbye or is the only way to do it is to say hello to this new suffocating kind of loneliness? Tell me, darling, why do I have to be me?

I don't think I like it anymore. It's a shame because I was just starting to.

I was just starting to.