Almost

4th of March, 10:00 pm, (GMT+03:00) Jeddah.

I had this urge to call you. All the news, all the gossip, are getting on my nerves. How you’ve moved on in a blink of an eye… how much “loved” she’s making you feel.

I was ready to dial. Your number wasn’t registered in my phone, but in my head, it was a recurring sequence of digits that I try my best to forget.

The last time we spoke, I had to inform you that I was coming home to the Philippines and that I had to get my sister’s old laptop from you. You called me by my pet name and corrected yourself instantly. I’d be lying if I say it didn’t feel nice… you calling me that.

The moment passed and you reverted to being “cool and aloof”… like I was just some old college friend who happened to call. I’ve been watching too many chick flicks and teleseryes that I was hoping you’d try to convince me to reconsider. We said our goodbyes and the line went dead… so did another part of me too.

You could’ve waited. You could’ve given me a chance to let me pull myself back together. But you didn’t. And the worst part is I cannot hate you. You robbed me of four years of my life… and  cannot hate you.

Your number was on my screen… waiting to be called.

I pushed the thought away and began calling Darlyn instead. No answer. Donna. Out of reach. Then I remembered it was 4:00 am in the Philippines.

I wanted to hear their voices… their witty remarks… their soothing sarcasm… anything to distract from you.

I need to forget.

 

I need to escape.

I need to be whole again.

 

Three months since you shattered me. You’d think I’d be almost over you. But I’m not.

 

I’m not.

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