I’ll write this here because we don’t talk. Because I’m scared to talk to you. Because I don’t want to.
That day on the bus to New York, I remember you were telling me about your family. And you just went on and on. I became dizzy and told you I’ll listen with mu eyes closed but I fell asleep.
The same trip I remember reading my poems to you. You shared some poems you’ve written, too. You are only one of two people I’ve read most to; the other one, I was drunk. I still can’t believe I shared them to you wholeheartedly, and sober.
When we came back from the U.S.A., we were both jet-lagged and whenever I’d be online in the early morning hours, and you happened to be online too, you’d remind me to eat.
Whenever I’d see you in that very last week we were talking, you’d always make sure to walk me home. And it bothered me. Not in a bad way, but just because I was never used to it. I told you this and you just said “Masanay ka na.” like it was something you’d be doing for a long time.
When I shared a link about something I thought you’d like and you just shut me down. I don’t know what I did, what I said, I don’t know why you aren’t talking to me.
But I miss you. Whatever it is I did, I’m sorry. But it’s me. I wouldn’t say this to your face or tell you online. Maybe I want to keep things this way. Maybe I’m too scared to talk to you. But maybe because ...just maybe, I don’t want to.
