After all these months, after swearing that I’m completely over it, after pining for a few guys, after kissing a total stranger at a bar, after proclaiming that I don’t care if I was the only single hot gay nerd (err, single hopeless gay nerd is more like it), I still cry whenever it rains.
I pretty much believed we could be friends. Just friends. I really thought I would be able to actually refrain from throwing up whenever we address each other as “girl” and talk about nonsensical things as if nothing happened before. I promised myself that what happened in the past would just be a painful reminder of my stupidity, of my shallowness, of my insignificant fantasies.
I guess I haven’t let go of my stupidity yet. But come to think of it, can we make ourselves not stupid? If yes, then I must be doing the process all wrong.
Yes, I made myself pre-occupied with other matters. I had a job. I went out with other guys. I even bought stuff I thought would make me happy. But whenever I am at work, I remember him smile so sweetly it friggin’ makes my blood sugar high. When some random guy hugs me, I remember that once warm embrace months ago. And crap, after buying these pricey pieces of shit, I can’t help but think if he was happy I finally got what I wanted.
Months ago, when a friend shared she’s still not over someone who broke her heart (when she wished he broke something else of her), I laughed at her face. Starfish, if you’re reading, text me. And tell me you were actually right, and I was wrong, that everything was but a façade.
Months ago, when he was shattered, I was on cloud nine. I thought he was pathetic. Now, Tracy Chapman is playing, I am left in the corner, smoking more than a pack of marlboro’s, contemplating on whether I should use the fork to stab my lovable pink pimple for more pain or not. Now who’s pathetic?
Months ago, I thought I have already flown away. But now I realize I still am stuck in the same spot where I was left behind.
Months ago. Ago. A word to signify the past. And when we refer to the past, there is no use of hanging on; no use of remembering. And months ago, I thought I have already let go. But I guess I would need some more months.
And if you are reading this, thank you. All I wanted was to grab your attention. Don’t mind me, I’ll leave in time. Just give me enough time to forget you completely. In the meantime, let me cry over spilled milk.