Pursuing from the Shore (Sun Rays #2)

Chapter 29

Entry: Redler's Archive

I stopped counting how many times I've written about you.

At some point, it didn't matter anymore. Because every time I do, something in me comes together. I'm not just writing about you—I'm building parts of myself I didn't know were missing.

Siren-eyed guy, you're more than just a person. You're something I keep trying to translate. And I don't think I've ever fully succeeded.

You exist in margins, in unfinished sentences, in pages I never meant to show anyone. You exist in the pauses between my words—where I hesitate and feel too much, where I choose silence because it's the only thing that can hold you properly.

I'm not vocal... you already know that. But I write. And I've written you in ways I could never say out loud. Someday, when you get to read everything, every draft and crossed-out line, every page I almost tore but didn't, I hope you understand. I hope you see how much you mean to me... and much I wanted you.

You know what's funny?

I never really thought about marriage before. It wasn't something I feared—it just wasn't something I saw for myself. Something like... it belonged to other people and to stories that weren't mine.

But then there's you.

And suddenly, it doesn't feel distant. It feels possible. It feels like something I could choose without second-guessing. That's how certain you make me.

And I hate that. Because I'm not used to being this sure about anything.

Babe.

You're my baby.

(There. I said it. And no, you're not allowed to make fun of me for this.)

You're the one I love the most.

Even when I try to downplay it. Even when I act like it's nothing. Even when I pretend I can go on without thinking about you. I can't. I tried. It doesn't work that way.

I wanted to be successful—with you. Not ahead of you. Not without you. Just... with you.

In the same timeline, in the same space, chasing different things but somehow still ending up beside each other. I wanted to become someone you could be proud of, not because you asked me to but because loving you made me want to grow into someone better.

Do you even realize what you've done to me?

Before you, I was fine being alone. I had my own world, my own pace, my own quiet. I didn't need anyone to fill the spaces. But you didn't fill them. You changed them.

You made my quiet feel different.

And now... everything reminds me of you. The way light hits a page. The way ink bleeds just slightly on paper. The way silence stretches, but doesn't feel heavy anymore. You're there. You're in all of it.

Do you know how many flowers I've kept? You probably don't. Ang dami na nilang naipon—they were all pressed down between pages, tucked carefully into my handwritten archives.

They came from you, from your hands. From your quiet ways of saying things you don't always put into words. I kept all of them all, every single petal. Because they felt like pieces of you I could hold on to.

And that's what I've been doing all along holding on to you, to us, and to something I'm still trying to understand, but never really wanted to let go of.