I also wanted to just forget what I felt during the crisp of our good old days – back to our childish sixth grade.
How many poems do I need to write to prove to everyone that I am no longer in love with you? How many fate or assumptions, carols and Decembers, giddy eye-seeking attentions and too many realizations do I need to still hide to forget the one who you could have just been but never was?
And I, feeling the cold of the early-dawn breeze as I was about to enter the place where our hearts first met, and our fate to supposedly meet for the nth time, I couldn’t help but to think about our first December talks and Christmas greetings and secluded feelings thereafter. And I, on the same month of the year 2019, I will have it the way I never expected I actually have had already.
Maybe, our eyes would cross each other again or so yours would meet mine in momentum and our eyes would still crave the same attention we longed for even after years – and our fate would settle for the same pain of being able to meet again but never destined. But maybe this time, I’m starting to complete my Christmas dawns and near-mornings and early breezes with the much cooler response of numbness to the idea of fate playing along with my innocence. But maybe this time, I’m finally learning to let go. This time, I finally learned to let go.
To someone who wasn’t mine, to someone who will never be mine, but to someone who I never stopped loving: Even after my first times and last month collide, even after my happily-ever-afters and realities cease to exist, even after there will be no more me, and you, and us, the term that I didn’t even have in the first place – I will still remember our twenty fifteen.
For I was just eventually in love with the idea of being in love only, but not the idea of me loving love at all. And I will always remember that this isn’t even love, hence, just a simple heartbreak I couldn’t call my own.
My kind of Christmas Eve’s heartbreak – a heartbreak I didn’t even know exists in me.