Thursday, 8 November 2018


taken from

...but was it really that easy for you to leave? because it wasn't for me. never was and never will be.

By now, I really couldn't figure what I want to write, or why am I writing. Maybe this is the right time I crawl back here and begin again from square one.

Maybe now is the right time for me to talk about how my life should probably go if we never crossed path.

I stopped drinking since the day we met, but that was the very day I started being drunk. I was never myself when we were together, I forgot what is sober. People keep telling me that I've changed, I was in denial.

I used to drink, but never once I thought that drinking and melancholic are my sober. I could have never written any better than when I'm broken.

I was whole when you were here, but now that you left, only holes that I got.

Maybe it is true that now is the right time for me to talk about how my life should probably go if we never crossed path.

You taught me how to love, and how to be strong. But strong has never been the anchor of my life. I am so used to the sadness that breathing underwater is what I really need to stay alive.

But hey, do you still remember the sleepless nights we spent on that bridge over there? The feud, the laugh, the tears, and the hugs. We shared those moments together, I swear at that time, we were living. At that time we weren't just another love story with a sad ending.

Now I'm letting my thoughts pour wild. I let my fingers dance gracefully on this keyboard. If only I can turn back time, I would rather avoid myself from crossing the path you are in. Or I will just embrace our moment together forever.

Five, six, seven or maybe ten shots of expensive wine. And never have I ever felt this sober since the day we met.

Love, was it that easy to let go? If so, why is only pain that I have to endure?

"On your way home, get me the brightest red rose you see." That was mom's final request before her passing, "I won't disappoint you, mom." was what I said.

As time passes, it is time for me to come home again.

The first red rose was the brightest, "maybe there is one brighter than this in front." so I continued. The next one was a little wilt. "I'm getting the best soon, not this one though." as I walked away.

And there was the last rose, but it wasn't red nor was it the brightest. It was white, sadly, it was too white, and it has a different kind of beauty. "This is the last one, but this is not the one." I picked it anyway.

I knocked on the door, mom was there waiting like she always does since I was small.

"Mom, I got a rose for you." Hesitant at first, but I had to.

She smiled, "this is not the one I asked for."

"I found the best, but I thought I could have picked better."

"My dear, we are always blinded by the imperfections in the most perfect thing ever," I remember that vividly, all the words she uttered. I remember everything.

"We always thought we can get a better one when the best is there right in front of us."

Love, I made the mistake twice. I disappoint my mom and let the best rose slipped off my grip.

You were the rose, you are still, the best rose. Until today I can never forgive myself for letting you go.

"But maybe, there will be something nicer in front." I kept promising myself that.

True, there are nicer roses in front, yet all I can feel is the regret for not choosing you.

May I, may I embark the similar path I walked by. May I rewrite the destiny I neglected? Will you still be there when I come?

Some mistakes can't be undone, and I can't have two roses at once.

But I miss you.