I have always wanted to write down every single letter of your name in all of my letters and my poems, but I am still afraid of what a really unique name could do to this fragile heart. I have never known anyone or befriend someone with your name, so whenever I pass by your name in my contacts, I would cry a little because I know it’s obviously you. I can never be wrong about who you are and what you were in the past because we both know that I was a part of your past.
I remember the night you called me for the first time, after weeks of texting each other. You told me how your mom knew you smoked with your friends. You asked me to help you with smoking and to quit it for greater good. I was so proud of you and myself and I felt as if I was given a greater responsibility, not just to make you a friend, but a subject (in a good way). I have always wanted to help people quit their bad habits and change into a better person and you were the first person that God let me change. I still think that it was not a small matter, it was beyond my personal limits. I have always hated smoking and there was you that answered every question I have for people who do.
We were nothing but friends, but I remembered you texting me and asking me if I was alright or if I have eaten, always cared for me when I am sick, and is always concerned when I am gone for an hour or two without replying you. I have always needed space, but not from you. You were home, you are the space I need. You are that person that encourages me to write, to express myself. Although someone in the past (who is just like you) once hurt me, you defined love in a very different way. You made me feel so comfortable. It still hurts me and questions me if I can find someone who makes me feel the way I did with you.
The day you smoked with your friends, I knew something was not right. You hardly replied to my text within the first ten minutes and I didn’t know the exact reason. I only thought you were with your friends, having fun with no phones involved. I fully supported you, so I didn’t bother and continued strolling down the streets of Japan, feeling unsettled. It leaves me so sad that you didn’t tell me what had happened and lied to me. It still hurts that your fear of losing me actually ended up losing us. In my head, I am still scared of knowing what I am to you that you were so scared of telling me the truth. And, I am still disappointed that despite the time and energy and attention and every single part of me that I have given, my presence was the only thing that made you stop. Not my words, not my radiance, not my memories. I guess you only stop to my presence’s accord; either I am there or gone forever.
I hate how you always say sorry and acted like nothing happened. You are 17 and not 2. I am a friend and not a babysitter. You can’t just say sorry and acted like nothing happened. You didn’t need to take breaks or ask for time to think of what had happened, you kept going. I simply let it all slip through my hands like sand, only to find it buries my feet and letting me so caught up with the weight now. I can barely move in the morning when I wake up, thinking about you and the new girl that you called last night. Do you still say sorry and run away from the problem afterwards? I hope not.
There’s so many things I want to say to you and I just can’t organize them because I am both missing you and angry at you.
I still reminisce on you. I still think about all the sweet things you have ever said, the guitar strums on every call, and every book title hanging on your book shelves. But, you know what? Maybe, they were all just non-sense. Maybe, you say the same thing to every girl. Maybe, I was just one of those girls that made you feel accompanied. I still can’t believe that I fell for someone like you who plays with girls’ heart a dozen at a time. You know what’s funny? The resemblance of us to each others’ past. You remind me about the guy who hurt me and (maybe) I remind you about the girl who left you. She wanted to make you stop smoking too, only to fight and leave you.
Above all of the things that piss me off, I still want you back. I still find pieces of you in every day. Every song you posted and added have always been about heart breaks and I’ve always hoped it was about me. Silly me, you must have found someone better. You still catch my glance even after you left. You know me because you told me you only see people you know. I am sorry I let you down. I want you back. I want you to text me and ask me to go back to who we were because I will stay. It was my mistake for leaving you, but yours when it comes to fighting for me to stay.
I remember you once told me to write a poetry when I was sad, but I didn’t. Now all of my poems are not written because of you, but they are all about you.
(You are not my ex, but sure, you were not a no one too.)