Desperate Measures


How many times have I convinced myself that I need to stop wanting you back? How many more nights would I spend trying to get you out of my head?

No. It’s never easy. Look at me and you’ll know. I’m still holding you back. I’m still keeping you in the depths of my heart. The pain is still here. Still solid, and always will be.

I don’t want to become a memory you would soon forget. I never wanted to become just another nostalgia that you would brush off the moment it hurts you. I’d like to believe that you feel the same way, too.

You’re everywhere I looked at. You’re all over me.


I walked past by the road where we used to wander, and it was horrible to have walked on that road again without you. I looked at the benches and remembered the days we just sat there and talked about our weirdness. I remember the pain of having to endure your nonsense stories and awful jokes just to make sure you’ll feel good afterwards. I remember the time when you took off your shoes and put them on my feet to make sure I won’t hurt my toes. You had to walk barefooted because of me. I even remember the times when you used to carry me on your back whenever I asked you to—or even if I don’t.

I sat at the bench near the fountain and saw your reflection right there. I imagined you wearing your infamous grin while looking at my eyes and being sure as heck that I won’t fall for anyone else but you.

I suddenly missed your confidence. I miss how you can’t keep your cool whenever you’re jealous. I miss how your eyebrows meet each other whenever you see me smiling in front of a guy—not to mention, a cute one.

I touched the space beside me and imagined you there. I missed leaning my head against yours, and making you tell me random stories about some random people who walked past by us. You would often start by creating stupid, scary sound effects to scare me and I would always pull your hair because you’re annoying. You know how much I hate horror stories.

I miss the times when you’re trying to make me smile by pulling some utterly cunning facial expressions. I miss the pain in my lungs after one good laugh because you tried so hard to mimic the sound of a duck, but whenever you try to execute it, you would always end up snorting because you can’t deliver the stupid thing properly.

I miss how I would catch you looking back when I tell you goodbye. Why can’t you take a hold of your emotions when I’m around? Maybe I’m that awesome.

When we see each other again, I’m afraid I won’t have that same effect on you. And that’s scary.

I miss you so much. But to love you still is a self-harm. And to forget about you is a bad joke I can’t laugh at.
And I’m so sorry. Sorry for all of my desperate measures to get rid of you. That’s not easy to do. But believe me, I’m trying . . . to breathe again without the air in my lungs—you.

Everything has changed. Yup. Things are no longer how they used to.

I cut my hair short for the fear that I would miss the way you gently push them at the back of my ears when you tell me I’m beautiful. I’m trying to remove the picture of you grinning playfully whenever you see me blushing. That’s hard.

I even coloured it brown because I know how much you hate it. And I’d love to think that you hate me, too. Maybe, just maybe, that would help. Maybe I would soon forget the words you’ve imprinted on my soul. Maybe I’d forget the way your stares slay my pain away. Maybe I’d forget that idiotic expression you make when you hit a nerve. That’s hard.

I could still vividly remember the words you said to me when we were in Greenbelt Park. I could perfectly picture the way you laughed at my innocence; how you stared at me when I was drowning in bliss, and how you snorted at my obvious jealousy when a pretty woman passed by. You never failed to amaze with the way you make me feel secured that I’m the only one. You always make it known to me that I’m your favourite human in the whole of humanity. I miss the usual spot we used to sit at back in that peaceful garden. The picture of the church in front of us, the quietness of the moment, the calmness of the water behind us, and the music the wind creates when it whispers through our ears. I missed that. But I’ve never gone back to that place again since we parted ways. That’s painful.

We usually go to that cozy café just few walks from my place. We would order the same, boring frappuccino and sit across the different places in the world—like, literally.

I’ve never gone back to that café since then. Coffee wouldn’t kill me, your memories would.

We’re just gonna stay like this forever, I guess. We’ll always be a metaphor. Kape na parang pag-ibig. Pag-ibig na parang kape. Pumapait. Nanlalamig kahit gaano kaiinit. Nauubos kahit gaano karami. Nakakasama kapag napapasobra.

I remember how we would both sing songs from random radio stations on the ride home. And you would purposely sing the lyrics wrongly to make me laugh. Sometimes, you would even mix the songs altogether and create your own mash-up. You’re always like that. Horrifyingly cunning and I hate you for that. Have I ever mentioned that I always stare at your face whenever you close your eyes and you try to act like a diva? I always thank God for all those little moments. But now, I’ve never listened to any of the radio stations because I’m afraid I’ll just cry over and over. I’ll think about you when I do. And that’s beyond awful.

You gave me a funny looking bear when you got jealous and I used to have it beside my bed but now it’s only hidden behind my closet. It had been a skeleton of something I don’t want to remember, but I hate to forget. I want it burned, but I would just hurt myself if I do. I’ll keep it there until it kills me to the core and I could no longer hold it. That stings!

Since the day you left, I’ve never coloured my nails. I’ll just hate to remember the way you would paint them with your whole heart. I’ll miss the amusement in your eyes as you try to carefully brush that cute thing on my nails and tell me that my fingers looked even more beautiful because of what you did. And I must admit, you’re good with it. I never questioned your manhood because of that. I became even more of a fan.

You painted me beautiful colors but I painted you wings instead. And I’m sorry.

One Sunday morning, I told you I wanted rain—which was absurd because the sun was shining brightly with all its glory that day. I cried because I wanted water so bad. I was being ludicrous that day. I have the tendency to act like a child and you know it. That same afternoon, while I was lamenting over my ridiculous sentiment, you told me to go at the park near your house.

So, I went there. I was quietly walking until I get to the fountain. I started crying the moment I saw you. You were smiling as you turn the sprinklers on, and there was rain. You created rain for me. You tried so hard to give me what I need. You held me and whispered, “I can’t play god over the nature, but I’ll give you what I can. I hope this makes you happy.” And you led me to the middle. We danced like fools. Indeed, we’re kids madly in love and stupid enough not to care about anything else but us. I miss that. With you, falling in love was safe. You made me feel that it’s okay to be young and fearless. To be scared, but reckless.

But I hate the rain now. As it falls, your memory pours.

Sorry for all I could have given, but didn’t. Sorry for all that I have done, that I shouldn’t.

Sorry for all my unguarded moments when I’m with you. Sorry for the most stupid of gestures I make when we’re together. Sorry for the way I dress up when you’re around. Sorry for not caring enough with the way I look when I’m with you. Sorry for the times I’ve been clumsy, guilty but nonchalant at the same time. Sorry for the way I yawn, for the way I snort and burp when I’m with you. You feel so familiar and with you, it feels like home. And I’m sorry. Sorry for being too needy at times. I’ve consumed all of you. You’ve given so much, and see what I have done?

I’m thinking maybe I’m just a waste of time. Maybe you could have invested on someone else, and not on me. Maybe I’m not worth it.

But you, you always tell me that I am. That just as Hazel Grace is not loved widely, but deeply and so do I.

I miss that. I miss all of you.

I don’t know if this still makes sense, but guess what? It’s still you.

Marami na ang nangyari at nagbago, pero ikaw pa rin.

Ikaw lang. Ikaw lang naman palagi.


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