I can see her even without going inside that fast food. I can see her without hesitation or worry that she might spot me standing here, behind these people waiting for their turn to cross the street. She’s there almost every morning. She always choose the corner table, away from others but beside the glass wall, giving her a great view of the busy intersection of Pasong Tamo.
I accidentally looked in that fast food while waiting to cross this street a few weeks back, then I saw her. I instantly fell into a part of my past which I always find myself into, in spite of my every day struggle to forget it---totally. Since then I’ve been watching her from where I stand almost every day. But today, I got this strange feeling that's pushing me to come inside and sit near her.
Even without getting closer or having the chance to talk to her, I can say she has changed a lot. But I’d like to believe that her changes are just merely a façade. I’d like to think that she’s still the same high school girl who’d call my name with such fondness. Who never failed to warm my cold soul with her touch and kind words. Who smiles so seldom but that makes her smile more enticing. Who has been an angel to my confused and chaotic teenage life. Who taught me how to love unconditionally... and the only girl that I loved... and hurt badly.
It’s a relief that she’s writing something when I passed her by. I chose to sit one table away from her… that even if she look behind, she’ll only see my back and won’t recognize me.
I didn't touch my food immediately. I can smell her scent, I can hear her tapping her pen on the table and an almost whisper singing. For once, a part of me was so overwhelmed of feeling her again after ages. I almost forgot how it feels to be alive again.
I didn’t see her leaving. When I looked behind to see a glimpse of her back, all I saw were empty chair and table with the empty tray but there’s something else… instantly, I walked towards her table and saw a notebook and crumpled papers. I immediately picked up the notebook and the papers and put them in my bag.
I went back to my place and with trembling hands, I set my food aside and placed the notebook and crumpled papers in front of me. I pick one crumpled piece and was surprised to read my name. Her handwriting is as lovely as it used to. Crumpled papers are journal entries of how she dealt with the days without me. I opened the notebook and saw the very last page she left attached.
“If it’s still painful whenever you remember that you hurt me before, free from the self-inflicted ordeal now. It’s all over, perhaps long before I even realized it. Nothing to hold on, nothing to look back either...”
