The Note

She placed her pen down as a tear slid down her face. She sucked a deep breath, the air filling her lungs. Her chest ached, constricted with invisible ropes she never seemed to know their existence. Then, with a surge of energy and frustration, she gripped the pen from the table and tossed it with all her might beside. It smacked against the wall and hit the ground.

A significant gesture. A significant fall.

Her eyes narrowed to the words she had written on the brown paper before her. Her left hand, reaching to her chest, pulled her dress, as if tearing it apart, attempting to show her skin.

On the note, it was written:

I remember the time when you held my hand and told me I was yours.
I remember the moment when I leaned against your shoulders.
I remember your soothing voice whispering "I love you."
I remember the beautiful skies we sat under.
I remember the melody of your voice.
Where, then, are you now?
Just a mere memory?
Do you love me?
No.

You don't love me.

I love - yet hate - you.

Your Consistent Answer

Can you see the dried tears on my face?

No.

Can you see the invisible tears I shed for you?

No.

Can you understand the effort I put in day and night for you?

No.

Can you feel the pain I have, punching my chest, crushing my heart minute by minute?

No.

Can you comprehend the fear of losing you to someone else - when I never get to talk to you or see you anymore?

No.

Can you see the insecurity I have when I sit beside you, look at you busy talking with others, hope that I could be the one sharing with you?

No.

Can you understand the agony of loving you, giving all my energy, giving all my attention, giving my whole, giving my all, to you yet not having you reciprocating?

No.

Can you not understand that I need encouragement to love somebody when it seems impossible to love somebody who never understands what I am feeling deep down inside?

No.

Do you love me?

Though My Imagination, It Is My Heart

I have always imagined lying at the bed with you by my side. Your hands on mine, your eyes staring at me. Our lips pursed, not knowing what to tell each other. Such silence will go on forever... and ever... until I close my eyes, breathe my last breath, and release my grip on your hands.

Both you and I know we have words to tell each other. Both you and I know we have things we want to share with each other. Yet, somehow, we weren't daring enough to tell each other what was troubling our minds, what was circling around our thoughts.

I have so many stories to tell you. I have so many smiles I wanted to share with you. I have, too, many disheartening things to present before you before my very last breath. Though personal, after my death, it wouldn't be a burden anymore. It wouldn't be a curse anymore. Instead, I would be relieved, because the person I love the most, the person I cherish the most, the person I adore the most knows what is in my mind all these while.

I can literally hear my mouth telling you "I am sorry" and "I love you" at the same time. I can literally see your eyes swelling with tears, and feel mine wet too. I can literally feel your grip on my hand tighten.

However, this is somehow my imagination. Your grip might loosen. Your eyes might look away. Your tears might never be visible. Perhaps it is because how much we have hurt each other with our words and silence. Perhaps it is how much we have injured each other with our comments and stares.

I can see you walking away, without looking back at me lying on the bed. I can feel the remorse that scrapes on your face when you hear me say what I have to say, without any understanding that I am as hurt as you are. Perhaps more hurt than you, because I had to bear this secret burden all my life, but when I decide to let it out, you walk away.

Nevertheless, if you really choose to walk away, if you really choose to remain silent, if you really choose to not reciprocate the love you first assured me, I would be grateful. Grateful for the moment I was assured, grateful for the moment you believed in me - whether genuine or not - and grateful for being who you were to me. In my heart, you have somehow taken an indescribeable place - a place no one else could replace. Perhaps I am foolish enough to love you the way I love you, choosing to spill everything I have - monetary and effort, energy and tears, heartaches and attention that you never see - for you, to you, because of you.

If you really choose to let everything - our relationship, our friendship, our everything - away, I would still tell you "I love you" as you walk away. Because of who you were and are to me, I will love you always.

So this is my solemn promise to you. Be I dead or alive, broken inside or healed, a place will always be filled with you, your words, your touch, your voice, your melodies, your smiles. I will love you - more.

Yes, I will love you.

The Swell

I closed my eyes. My breathing slowed. Every second seemed like eternity.

Inside me, a swell that miraculously and cleverly covered itself during the day appeared - to my dispose. I looked at it and pulled it nearer. My eyes were still closed.

I whispered to it... words I've never been able to mouth, songs I've never been able to vocalize...

The swell diminished from sight; I was pulled into another realm.

Of anguish. Of deeper remorse. Of eternal fear.