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Palawan.

AMK.

By Alex BarbuPublished 4 years ago 3 min read
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I’m not about to go ahead writing some bullshit poem about the things you make me feel and whatnot. You know damn well what those things were. This is a letter. Sincerely, and nothing more.

I truly can’t pretend to understand what the hell you expect me to do. The mixed emotions, the twisted roads, the deafening silence between us. It was perfect. It really was. And not only that, but it could have lasted for a really, really long damn time.

But now, each time you sit in front of me, which you do, every single God damned day, I feel empty. I feel like reaching out to you and tapping your shoulder, or talking to you, or anything, anything to make you look at me again, damn it. And I don’t know why it’s you, but it’s always been you, I knew it from the day we met, four years ago.

A thick black coat, long hair and a book. You remember too, I know you do.

And yes I know, I’ve fooled around and for that I’m sorry. Honestly. I am not saying I did it right, and I am not going to try to defend myself, because there’s no point in it. I’m a dick. And I’m sorry.

But please, you can’t just be oblivious to what’s staring you RIGHT IN THE EYES.

To the fact that whenever I walk down the sidewalk I think of when your hand was wrapped in mine, or when I’m driving by a vineyard, or when Nirvana comes on, or when I see that Honolulu sweater, those are all things that make me

Miss you.

And I would give up everything. In a heartbeat.

Just for you to look at me again the way you did before.

Just for you to put your hand in mine, and let me wrap the universe around your finger.

Because that’s what you deserve. It’s what you always did. You are meant for so much more than what this town could ever possibly offer you, and so am I.

Because let’s face it, we’re both getting out of here. The sooner, the better. But I want you to be sitting next to me when we’re finally driving over the bridge, and onto our new lives. I don’t want an empty seat, and I certainly don’t want

Anyone else.

The other night I was making a fire in the little chimney in my room, and I thought “This is the exact moment I would have called her over. Just to talk to her. Just to look her in the eyes.” And that thought made my stomach empty and it made me reject any food or drink. I almost had to chain myself away from my phone as to not pick it up and tell you something. Well this is me telling you something. I give in.

Here’s a promise. A promise I was going to make the day I got back. When I wanted us to build a snowman. I promise that no matter where life takes us, whether we’re together or not, I will always be here. I promise that my ringer is always on, and my heart always open, whenever you need me. And one more thing I promise is that I will always love you. Cheesy or not, I mean that like I’ve never meant anything in my life before. And I’m sorry I’ve never told you this before. And I’m sorry I now might never get to. I relied too much on timing, and I neglected you. And I’m sorry.

Because just like Spencer Hastings said, timing is for dancers and comedians. You either love someone or you don’t.

And I do.

I sure as hell do.

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