Turn the clocks around

So you'd rather be remembered by the good things. Finding those isn't hard, really. Good memories, surprising conversations, those little insights into life I gained - I'll have to give you credit for those. That, and perhaps, whatever's left of the physical marks you left me one time, but that's a different story. Like everybody else, I'm sure you'd rather be remembered by those.

Making sure that's the case is hard, really. You decided to bid farewell in two weeks, but you returned after three. I already thought there wouldn't be any chance for one last word, since we both thought that, well, that is it. All the same I gladly accepted your return. Just a chance, I figured, to add more to those good things that you wanted to be remembered by. And I'm sure I'm not alone in that regard.

I eventually told myself that having too much is a bad thing. Yes, we went further and further, and as weeks passed by it's as if we're inseperable, as if the only thing that would stop us is a possibility that I'm all too aware of: departure itself. And then I did some things, and you did some things, and I realize that it isn't a match made in heaven. You were, after all, built to hate people like me - cynical, immature, annoying, perhaps a bit possessive, too. And I was built to hate people like you - hypocritical, shallow, patronizing, perhaps a bit dismissive, too.

Despite the hesitation to lock the door and throw the key away - yes, it didn't work - I had to. I felt betrayed, by the weeks, even months, perhaps even years, that I've spent thinking that I had somebody to fall on. Who would've thought that a series of convoluted events would change the way I think about everybody? I wouldn't blame you directly. You had your people, or at least, you had people who decided to stick to you by being, well, hypocritical. You had them kick me out, and you didn't care to assert whatever we had, instead contributing to their mess by confirming their exaggerated beliefs. Boom. This story is over.

Sometimes I can't help but think whether things would've gone any differently. If I didn't do what I did, would we still be friends? Perhaps, but everybody else wanted me out anyway. If you didn't do what you did, would we still be friends? I'd probably be taking a sabbatical rather than taking every chance to expose you. If you did what you said you would do, would we still be friends? Definitely, and the reasons are simple: I wouldn't have any means of knowing more about you. I'd still think of you as someone who's sweet, smart and positively quirky. I'd still be looking up to you as someone I'd like to be. Instead you became what I think of you now. A bitch, fair and square.

I have this clock in my room, and I don't know if you know this, but it just spins around quietly. I thought whether I'll be eating my words because you'll prove me wrong - and sure, you will, because everybody else will still think you're sweet, smart and positively quirky - but, well, I won't. You can say I'm wrong, but you can never disprove what I saw and experienced. Their defenses aside, I'll never be shaken. Insignificant, sure, but never shaken.

It's been a year, and I hardly felt it. What I felt was all that time I wasted thinking it'll be as good as it sounds. As you sound.

And your responses...

You think too much!

Blogger N.12/13/2008     

ang mahuwagang entry!

..harsh, as always. :P

Anonymous Anonymous12/22/2008     

mahiwaga! mahiwaga! nyahahaha. =))

Anonymous Anonymous12/22/2008     

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