Why We Fell Out

Prologue

It's November. It's been four years already since we ended things. I'm still getting the hang of it. I thought I was over it, but there are times that I longed for you. I can still see that mole which makes your neck fascinating; smell of that cheap perfume I especially picked for you; feel those hands, rough and strong hands as a result of hard work at your garden.

Sometimes, I regret ending things with you. I regret being impatient. Those sweet yet salty memories still haunt me. But every time I look back, the pain and heartbreak still linger. And I think you know how I feel. You know that I wanted you back. Probably because I asked you directly. How stupid!

Maybe you were right. Maybe hypothetically if I want you back, there is no way that you would want me back. I know you implied it for the hundredth time that it's not possible. Well you've ranked 9th in the national engineering licensure exam recently so I don't want to question your judgment about our probability. It appears that you've done the math. Because you're THAT good.

They said that time heals. It's overrated. And because it's not working for me... It's futile to wait for such a long time and use other people and other worldly things as a source of temporary relief from the consuming void of loneliness.

And like other poets and writers, I'm going to write you a book. But this isn't Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. Nobody will die but this heightened passion and love. I'm going to end and dump these shitty feelings and thoughts into literature before the year ends. I'm going to make sure that there will be no trace of you on January. Well that is if you never come back to me until 31st of December. I know I'm giving you an ultimatum even though you don't know it. It's the least that I can do for myself before I turn away from you. Excuses, ugh, so disgusting!