You, Still Breathing in Ink, Forever Tucked in my Prayers

You're hauntingly beautiful, the way you adorn yourself in the flora and sunshine just to reveal the dark, naked truth to me slowly. The truth, never an excuse to not come near you.

Sometimes, I still find myself caught up in the hope that glimmered in your eyes. We never wrote a letter to each other, but a number of stories were woven by our hearts amidst the silence of the nights we shared together. Enough of your words and promises still breathe in the journal that we once shared in our days.

Reading the journal whenever I return to my home in the summer vacation, no one to accompany me but my reflection, which I find glistening over my tears on those wrecked coffee pages.

I found myself being remembered by you in a number of ways that no one now would care to. Does anyone even care about my favourite movie or songs the way you did? I doubt it. Learning about your dreams through these pages and believing you must be striving somewhere to reach your goals just fills my heart with a lot of pride and ecstasy.

I don't miss you, but I miss the person I thought you were. I never hated you for your flaws, but it’s you who used them against me, consciously or unconsciously, God knows, so many times until my soul gave up. I could have given up on anything just to have you back in my life, but I could never dare to force the connection. Even in the future, I might write you a letter. Never think of meeting me. No matter how much I'd like to look into your eyes once again, but let me have a glimpse of your soul through the ink you'd spread on the pages for me in the letter.

Reading this journal, filled with memories and promises, feels like looking at the only piece of you I’m left to carry in my hand. Or else, you are always tucked into my night prayers whenever I glance at the moon.

You have been the precious shade of my life’s portrait, which I can never get enough of. You silently breathe in the handwriting that I tried to mimic you in 4th grade, in the glances of the camera that captured the sunset and moon, in the poetries you inspired me to weave from emotions, raw and real. I know my tribe doesn't like you for the way we drifted apart, but that doesn't mean I shall stop talking about you proudly to strangers who bring their precious smiles to welcome me with our stories.

Breathing in every page soaked in coffee and your perfume, I wonder if you've tried enough coffee brands to make a new favourite, or if this still holds a special place in your heart, just the way it does in my journal and sensory memory.

I wonder if I can really call you, as you mentioned before signing off the letter you wrote to my future self. Will you be awake at this midnight hour? If I call you, will you stare at your phone and hesitate to pick it up, knowing I might be disturbing you amidst the precious memories you're making with a number of different smiles and folds at the corners of their eyes?

You might pick up, but will you wait for my hello, or sit with my silence as long as I wish you to? Tell me, will you? What if neither of us says hello, but there's a silence filled with hurtful memories and a sight of hope for a single hello?

I'm holding myself back from getting to you. I want to buy time, but I'm afraid if I come again, I won’t ever be able to leave you again, no matter how much we might be hurting each other by staying together.

Wherever you are, you will always be my sunshine, like you used to be, glowing inside my heart, burning me enough with every thought of you.