this is not a love letter

We've never been on a date.

I laugh to myself, shake my head. Can you imagine? We've been together for exactly five months, two weeks, and four days, and we've never been on a date.

And we both know why: because we're both broke students.

And here's something that I know, and it's that you know me. You know what I like. You know my flair for the romantic; I know you do, with the way I fangirl about my ships and the somewhat pretentious way I talk.

Which is why maybe you're thinking the date I want is expensive. Elaborate. A date candle-lit, the scent of roses permeating the air as you recite to me some Neruda, you clad in that rustic suit you wore to the ball I didn't attend. You kiss my hand. And it is perfect.

But that isn't what I want.

I don't want some grand experience to fictionalize; I want you.

Truth is, I don't mind. I don't mind that we've never been on a date, nor do I mind that you didn't give me a gift for a Christmas, or a rose for Valentine's. I don't mind that you didn't buy me that hoodie. I don't mind that when I asked you to buy me that iced tea that costed barely half a dollar you came up with nothing, don't mind that all you've ever given me are candies that only cost a cent. Because you've given me something invaluable, and those are so many things.

Your time, as you waited for me after class.

Your patience, as you stayed calm throughout an irrational harangue of mine over nearly nothing.

Your affection, as you smiled at me. As you wrapped your arm around my waist. As you kissed my cheek.

Truth is, I'm content. You've given me so much in the few months we've been together that to ask for a perfect date is an incredulous idea.

But there is one thing I ask of you, though. I promise this will be the last.

Promise me that you'll be happy.

Promise me you'll try, no matter how much it hurts to do so.

And promise me this: that you'll love yourself, even if just a little. That I will no longer have to trace your scars and ask you to stop. That I will no longer tell you that no, you aren't worthless, because you know it within yourself that you aren't.

I think of our circumstances and the fact that, by this time next year, we may be strangers to each other. And you know? Maybe we'll never have that perfect date. We'll be separated. You in the US (maybe), while I on the other side of the Philippines.

I know I've asked so much of you already, but this will be the last. Promise.

I don't need you to remember me, love.

I don't need us to be forever.

I just need you to be happy and well.