"That guy,
When Spring comes,
Flower blooms, but
They wither,
That's why I like him more.
When it rains,
The floating rainbow is beautiful, but
It will eventually disappear,
That's why I like him more.
When the night comes,
The floating stars twinkle, but
They will hide when the sun comes out,
That's why I like him more.
He's always been next to me,
That's why I like him."
Everyone was clappping, my teacher asked me if I wrote it myself, and I said yes.
"you wrote 'him' right? May I know who is 'him'?"
I glanced towards the 'him' from my poem. He was sitting right infront of me. I could see the back of his head. Then I got really shy and covered half of my face with the paper, while saying
"It's a secret"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It's a memory from when I was a child. The teacher asked us to make a poem. Being 7 and incredibly innoncent, I made that poem. Solely because I felt like I wanted to make a genuine poem, one that contains the feeling that I truly felt. I always find writing very relaxing. I always am an undeniably sensitive person. Especially when it comes to that person. The one that I truly cared about.
Rafael
Yes, the poem was about him and him only. My childhood friend, my closest friend, and the one that I had foolishly fallen in love with. I made that poem while thinking about him. Of course at first I never thought that I liked him, I was 7. All I know was that he was the most precious friend that I ever had, and losing him would break me. He was that precious to me.
But here I am now, 10 years later, waiting at the bus stop in the fucking rain. Of course it's because Rafael forgot his umbrella. Of fucking course. He always does. And guess what? I'm the one who always has to bring it to him, every.fucking.time. Jesus Christ. I'm holding my own black umbrella with my left hand and his with my right hand. I tried texting him if he had an umbrella with him before deciding to go to give him his umbrella. When I didn't receive a reply, I decided to go and pick him up at the bus stop, I send him another text saying that I'm at the bus stop, since he went away to god knows where. It's so cold outside. And not to mention, so damp. The rainbow reflected on the water, the stars in the sky, the withered flower that someone left at the bus stop and him, reminds me of that poem that I made when I was 7.
It irritates me more that I remember that memory while waiting for him in the rain. I'm really pissed because I have waited for 45 minutes so I'm sending him another text demanding him to reply. I can't wait any longer, this is too much. My shoes and my lower jeans start to get wet from the rain. I don't understand why I did it in the first place. I'm so angry with myself for being too patient with all the shit that he has put me through.
YOU ARE READING
Remorse of The Past
Roman d'amour"That guy, When Spring comes, Flower blooms, but They wither, That's why I like him more. When it rains, The floating rainbow is beautiful, but It will eventually disappear, That's why I like him more, When the night comes, The floating stars twin...