these are the things i want to tell you but can’t

i want to tell you that i got a job. i want to be able to come to you when it frustrates me, excites me, makes me happy and exuberant. i want to tell you about my workmates and supervisors (whose mere first syllable already have me in laughing tears, whose listening ears are full of patience and understanding, whose post-office-hour talks i wait for, whom i made huge effort to talk to, and the cat, and oh the two cats). i want to tell you that i finally crossed out my biggest goal in my college years. i want to tell you how once my condition acted up and i had forgotten my meds at home (and you know my history, my allergies, my episode, you know and have seen me going through it) and nearly got a dang panic attack because of it, and i want to tell you that i got through it. we could’ve scheduled a time to meet and stare at the night sky again, although this time, maybe with face masks on, but that’s it; i could’ve come first and sat contemplating the wave of the flag that wasn’t there anymore, waiting for you, and when you came, we could’ve talked and listened to each other.

i want to tell you about the show. i want to tell you how it went, how the curtains never closed for me, for i’m always right there, under the lights, holding flowers that never came from you, and once you gave me a flower for rehearsal. you left before the big finale and i was left with an empty seat, a seat that was meant to be yours. we couldn’t have met, obviously, you could never come to the stage and congratulate me, for that would make it official, as to who we could’ve been, what we could’ve had.

driving at night reminds me of you. i thought you should know that. i’ve associated night with you and when you walked away, you brought it along with you. i gave you an identity i couldn’t rid you of. for the first few months it threw me off balance, to stand under the night sky and not seeing you there, not sensing you nearby, but i’ve made my peace with it. now i just accept it as a milestone, as a mark, as a reminder that i once had known you. i wouldn’t trade it for anything. in just a few months you taught me a lot, stuff i’ve learned from you that i will carry for the rest of my life, for what you’ve given me can’t be measured with physical parameter. even i doubt you could believe what you’ve taught me without realizing. even i still can’t believe it sometime. maybe the biggest lesson in life comes from the bitter experience indeed.

for so long i resented you. maybe i still do. i want to tell you all that. but of course i can’t. there’s no such need to update you on how my life goes. but still, i want to tell you. and maybe one day, when i find closure, i would be able to tell this to someone else, to share what i’ve been wanting to unload, to retell, to get rid of; to someone that isn’t you.