Okay, so this is some fictional story that has been stuck on my head since the last 10 minutes from the moment I started typing. THIS IS NOT ME. I’m trying here, so shut-up. 🙂
How strange to see him in a day like this, in a place like this. It would be the last place where I’d expect to see him. What is he doing here?
He WAS never fond of books. Was–a more appropriate word for he is someone at the bunk of my past. To make everything real short, he’s like the one who got away. And after him, I never had the chance to date other men. Well, I had the chance, erase that. I meant, I never took the chance, which is kind of dumb. And it’s been three-whole-fucking-years.
It’s like, he took a lot of things from me, things [that] I needed to start all over again with someone new, but he just never gave them back. He’s just a mad thief who now looks good.
So what do you feel, what will you do when you see someone (like him) surprisingly?
I got PVCs. I didn’t have an ECG reading of that exact moment to prove to you, but I’m sure of it–I literally felt my heart skipped a beat. I had Premature Ventricular Contractions. There’s a small relief though, since then, there were times when I was wondering how he looks like now or what is he doing. But the real dilemma is asking myself if I will approach him. It’s like this:
Not being sure if he saw me, not sure if he has gotten blind and need eyeglasses or trying to act that he’s not seeing me. I hate that.
It made me forget the title of the book I have to look for, that I’m in a hurry for I have a meeting in just 15 minutes, that I’m also about to text someone. It made me forget everything and remember all the good things about him. Realizing this, it made me wish that I should have had try to remember all the bad stuffs and how he strangled this heart and let it burnt on fire. I was so stuck up in the moment, wishing someone had a remote control of me and press “play”, “forward” or “next” because feeling like being on pause, it’s exhausting when all you want to do is move on.
The more seconds and minutes that passes, the more stressful I have been. It’s like Panic Disorder came to me in an instant. Especially the time when you ask yourself if there’s a girl with him that time. Is she prettier? Is she more successful? Is she smarter? Is she fat or skinny? Then you realized that you haven’t had a pedicure for weeks now, his fetish is having a nice rosy feet. Then you realize you don’t look grand enough to show that you’re far better off without him. “You don’t.”
See? It’s a pile of stress being thrown all around me. All I wanted to do that time is talk to him. Ask how is he. If he still works at his father’s bank or pursued his dream of becoming a lawyer. If he’s been married or something.
But what I really want to ask are these: “Did you miss me?”, “Have you ever thought of me in the past three years?” “If you did, how often? What did you do about it? Because I seriously need some tips.” “Where did you put all the stuffs that I have in your apartment?” And some endless questions [that] I’m in dire need to be asking. It’s hopeless isn’t it.
So there I was, frozen as of that moment. But I don’t know, there’s something that made me wake up and walk fast to get out of that place. To breathe because the last 10 minutes made me exhausted.