AN OPEN LETTER TO A TERRESTRIAL VISIONARY

Things have never been the same since that day we chose to shy away from each other’s arms. You were right yesternight. The easiest thing that I should have done was to choose among you. And I failed in completing that task. I failed myself; I failed you. 'Pretty much failed everyone for that matter. And did I repent, hell no. I just shelved everything up, bottled up some of the emotions, and just waited for that rocket to come. And when it came, it was explosive.

What have we now, dear friend? We are wayward souls. Or at least I am. You on the other hand, are back to where you should be. Away from me, I guess. Busy and contemplating about everything else but me. And you know what, it is the right thing to do. I just can't accept it as it is. Not just yet. Who knows? Maybe I will, soon enough. But not just yet. I am still hoping that I may one day, land unto your arms again. And that time, you wouldn't choose to leave me inside your nook, and sleep over you siblings' quiet place.

Let's face it. At the back of my mind, I still long for you. Your touch, your squinty eyes. But I don't complain. Because I can't. Not just yet. I live a crazy, torn life. And you, you're just happy I'm out of yours, I guess. At a point, I was happy that you were. Because I AM bad for you. I shouldn't badger you about things that you shouldn't worry about. Like me sleeping over, and you not being comfortable about it. Maybe I shouldn't sleep over your nook anymore, no matter how late it is. It's not worth the hurt I give you.

I'm pretty much into guessing right now. But not really good at it. You amaze me. You have moved on. I on the other hand, have not. Because you still inspire me in every aspect. What have we, dear friend? At least a special kind of friendship, I assume. One that's too complicated for me to explain, but is pretty much plainly perceivable for you.

I told you three phrases before. A fourth I asked you to dare not utter. But you did. And it struck me deep. But I had to take the blade you lunged at me. It was pretty much called for. I deserved it.

But I'm a "masungay" stubborn jackass. A pretty old one, too.

Whether I am too old or too scared to admit it, I am still fond of everything that you are. Even if I've told you that I've moved on. The truth of the matter is, I haven't. I'm just telling myself that I have. Pretentious me. Woes reign supreme in my evil mind. Does it bother me? Yes. Because I know, in the end I might lose everyone. And you know how scared I become when I am alone. I'm just as big scardy cat. Umm, pig.

Thank you for being polite enough to say "Ingat" even if I know you're mad at me. You mean it, I know. I should take care of myself. At this point though, I'm starting to look like the masochist I've always been. Wanting to inflict myself with wounds that heal not.

I don't even know if you'll be able to read this. I hope you do. And I hope it doesn't piss you off. You're a great person, dear friend. And I am not. But I hope that doesn't get in the way of things. Not now. Not never.