Only Ever You

P R O L O G U E

He downs the rest of his tea before gingerly placing the huge pile of papers on top of his desk, careful not to mess up the thick stack. I'll finish the rest tomorrow, he thinks as he stretches his arms over his head, groaning a little when he feels some of his joints pop slightly in protest.

As he closes the door to his apartment's balcony, he takes one last glimpse of the busy streets below, just outside the building. There's still a lot of commotion despite the late hour, and it shouldn't surprise him anymore, really. After all, he is in the city that never sleeps.

Life in New York isn't exactly easy, but Richard Faulkerson, Jr. wouldn't trade it for the world. He loves his life here: his job, the people, the place. The independence. It has been approximately five years since his big move, and four years since he started teaching acting and music at a local school. Admittedly, the job doesn't pay much, but it sustains him enough to be able to pay his bills and indulge himself in an average kind of living. RJ's family isn't poor to begin with, so his average salary really doesn't pose much of a problem to his life away from home. The important thing for him is that he loves acting, and music, and children -- so he isn't really complaining. He loves his job, period.

A glance at the wall-clock that hangs in one corner of his living room tells him that it's already way past two in the morning. He sighs; it looks like he isn't going to be able to catch up on sleep tonight after all. He had hoped he will be able to sleep for more than five hours tonight, but he isn't so lucky. He has to be at work by seven o'clock because his kids (or the students he teaches, really) have to rehearse for their upcoming show. Christmas is coming and the theater at his school is hosting a play for the holiday season, and RJ's kids will be part of the cast.

Kung 'di ko lang mahal mga batang 'yun, he ponders some more as he settles beneath the blankets of his bed, after his night routine and his utterance of his prayer. He doesn't bother stripping down to his boxers like he usually does; the winter breeze is too strong of an enemy to even attempt to sleep naked. And he's too frugal to turn up his heater and consume more electricity.

With one last deep sigh, he turns on his lamp shade, turns off his lights, and then he closes his eyes tightly.

And as soon as he does this, his thoughts inevitably fly to those of her. She starts to flood his mind once more, as she does every single night.

Maine. Nicomaine Dei Mendoza.

No matter how hard he tries to forget about her, it proves to be impossible for him to do so. He doesn't know why; he hasn't even heard much of her since he left. And it has been years.

Briefly, he wonders how she is now. Does she still think about him the way he does about her? Does thoughts of him keep her up at night at all? Call him vindictive, but RJ kind of hopes they do. He hopes that thoughts of him keep her up, too. It's only fair, right? It's only fair for her to feel even just a portion of the pain RJ felt (and still feels, sometimes) because of her.

"Susmaryosep, RJ," he mutters to himself, annoyed. He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling. "Five years, at hanggang ngayon mahal mo pa rin? Iba ka rin e no?"

He feels frustrated at himself as he runs his hand over his face. You'd think all those years will be enough to help him forget, but no, they aren't. Each day is still filled with Maine -- and RJ no longer knows what to do about it. Every turn, every move -- everything seems to make its connection back to her somehow.

It doesn't even matter which virtual path his thoughts decide to take because he knows that every single one of them will meet along the way. And Maine will always be their sole point of intersection.