a crappy letter waiting to be sent #1

One of the things that I am fond of doing close to midnight (like this moment) is to write sappy things. My friend,  Jaime has always regarded me as OA. Well, as I always tell him, he’s got a Cancerian friend. Whatever that means. I am really moody, sometimes, I look back at my compositions and they can get sickeningly saccharine. Whatever.

So, one of my sickeningly saccharine entries were written months, months, months ago when I was in a coffee shop. sipping my coffee alone. This crap doesn’t merit any introduction, would it?Anyway…

I decided to say goodbye to you in one of my most favorite places–this place where I spend most of my time throwing a furtive glance on the empty chair beside me; hoping that your warm smile would bask the lonely atmosphere; or bring me tranquility in the midst of this horrendous place.

I decided to say goodbye to my most insane flights of fancy, in this place where I brewed a lot of dreams.  In which I have long wanted to make you happy.  In which in my hands I hoped you’d find ethereal happiness.  In my smile I hope you’d feel loved.  In my hand, I hope you’d find forever.

I decided to say goodbye to the tinge of excitement you bring, like how the smell of roasted beans waft through the heavy air; sending me a thousand heartbeats in a blink. It’s almost as nuts as me wanting to bring our virtual reality into something actually real.

Maybe you don’t even know that, but I would like to tell you now, that I look forward to things like this.

With you.

With us actually verbally stripping our minds naked over an actual steaming cup of coffee; sharing our big dreams and working together to realize it; finding meanings in our most nonsensical moments; having fun in our spontaneity…finding comfort in our silence.

But I guess it never will happen to me…not to us, at least. Like those stories I have written in the wind, ours will be swirled onto nothingness, but will always bring familiar scent, a nostalgic feeling during summer afternoons as the golden narra blossoms flutter into the vast horizon.

It’s much like the cinnamon in cappuccino.  It’s light froth and minty-sweet spice gradually disappears as I stir onto my cup; and once I take a sip, and I wonder who would have known it’s actually there; but I can actually taste it.

Amazing, but bittersweet.

It suddenly reminded me of that Thursday night, when I watch your speed into the busy street.  Your eyes transfixed into the straight road ahead; unmindful of a longing gaze that pierces into the moonlight. Away from it.

Away from me.

Realization ensued that what we had just reached the dead end. There can be a chance to turn back, but never to look forward. There’s no sense of going anywhere else, but to where we started.

-R-

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