Hasten.

She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She promised herself that she would try to stop from spacing out often. The never-ceasing pain in her heart clawing ever harder, trying to claw its way wider until there would be nothing left of her than pain, memories and tears.

Clutching the fourth sheet of paper, she tried to start again.

 

I don’t think I’d be able to live with myself knowing it was our memories that I’d be living. It would be unfair for you. And I

 

She stopped midway through finishing a sentence. Her head was pounding again. She gripped the pen tighter, her knuckles pink with the exertion. It didn’t matter, then. It would be better that way.

 

With that thought as her final decision, she crumpled the paper and threw it carelessly on the bin just below her bed. It missed the bin, along with three other crumpled, unfinished letters that suffered the same fate.

▲△▲△

“Bree, come on. What’re you doing just sitting there? Your plane is leaving,” Ben, her best friend since 6th grade, pulled her suitcase upright and stared at her as if she has gone bollocks.

 

“I was, um, thinking.” She looked up, shaken out of her reverie. “Sorry,” she cringed inwardly as she saw the pity in her best friend’s eyes. She grinned, “Come here, Ben.” Brianna stood up and tried to hug him despite her left hand wrapped in a cast. “I really do love you.”

 

“Remember what we talked about. You can’t be tied down by promises that are no longer there. You have to let yourself go. You have to. Forgive yourself. There was nothing you could have done to stop it from happening. It was his choice, and he told you that himself, did he not? After everything. You have to. You have to help yourself. Because I love you and we all love you and we don’t want to see you slowly crumbling away. You don’t need to do it for us, but we can’t do the healing for you. You need to do it for yourself and you’ll get there eventually. Got that?”

 

“I told you a dozen times, Ben. I’m okay. See?” she shrugged and smiled, doing a 360-degree turn for Ben’s disapproving assessment of her current state.

 

“Yep,” he shook his head as he bit his lower lip in mock approval. “Very convincing, Bree. Like really.” He rolled his eyes and pushed her towards the departure area.

 

Ben placed his hand inside pocket, feeling the folded letter with his hands. It felt so heavy, knowing if Brianna read it she would be hurt all over again, back to square one. He’s not going to give the letter. What she doesn’t know wouldn’t hurt her any longer. Letters of explanations aren’t justifiable after everything. He supposed it would be unfair, and that it wasn’t his right to hide it from her. But it doesn’t matter now. She finally chose to let go. And that was the right thing to do.

 

He looked up just in time as she looked back at him and waved. “Be happy, Brianna Allison Hayes!” He yelled, giving his pocket one last tap.

 

Taking a deep breath, she looked back at the people milling about and wondered if these people are the same people that they were years ago. No one ever is. No one is ever the same person that they were before.

 

Taking a deep breath, she plastered her best smile on her face and nodded at Ben, never mind that he wouldn’t be able to see it from this distance.

 

Be happy.

 

 

 

An Open Letter to the Guy I Couldn’t Love

“I didn’t mean to give you all of those things that you had been looking for long before you met me. I didn’t mean to be unkind or to let you down and I of course didn’t think that you’d fall as hard as you did.

But I also know that I wasn’t ready to give you what you wanted, long term.

It really wasn’t you at all.

You never did anything thing wrong but I knew two months into it that it would end with me walking away, without any scars and I’m sorry that when you finally gave up and let go, you had more than a few.

You were never unkind, in fact you may have been the sweetest and most honest guy I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. But that doesn’t change the timing or the circumstance.

The truth is, I didn’t and still don’t want anything serious.

I need to pay attention to myself and as hard as that is to shallow for you, I need you to know that just because it wasn’t me, doesn’t mean that there is no hope for you.

In fact, someday you will meet a girl who will be able to give you all of the things that I never could and believe me when I say that I can’t wait until you get to love her in the way that she deserves, and I can’t wait until you get that same love in return.

I know that you blame me for a lot of what happened and with good reason. I wish I could give you some other explanation other than we are just different people but I can’t.

I’m not what you need, I can’t be that kind of girl, and as sorry as I am for hurting you, for giving you another reason not to trust, I’m not sorry that I left.

Because it was a better choice than me leading you on when my heart just wasn’t in it.

I could say get over it, but that takes time and I know better than anyone that you are the most patient person, and that with this time you will come to know all of these things, the things I never had the courage to say when I say goodbye.

I’m sorry that you still care. I really am because it sadly will not change the way that I feel.

I need someone to challenge me, to spark creativity and to make me feel six different things at once and you need someone who wants to be saved, who needs to be taken care of.

I told you from the start that’s not me. And I know that you know that I’ll be fine on my own.

I’m sorry that I let you half way in and then ran away.

I’m sorry that I couldn’t forgive myself enough to love you in the ways that we both you know you deserve.

If you’ve taught me anything it’s that life is short and in a flash, years will pass and I didn’t want to be the one that you wasted your time on.

I’m not your person and you are not mine and while I have accepted that, I’m not so sure that you have.

I will always miss you, and if we met in another time and place, maybe I could love you deeply and fully and not take shortcuts and not fall short but we met one another in this time, in this place, and I couldn’t invest and care like you could.

You are far better than me in so many ways and so I just want you to know that while I know that I broke you a little more, I also know that I won’t be the one to fix you and I never was.

I wish you all the best, all of the happiness. I know that you will find joy soon and stop being so mad at everyone, for everything they have ever done.

I don’t expect forgiveness or kindness, I just needed you to understand that I get it.

I’m sorry that it didn’t work out but in some ways, I’m happy because I know that I was just a speed bump and that sometime soon, you will meet the love of your life and it won’t feel like work. It won’t make you frustrated and it will put you at peace.

So thank you. For loving me all at once so that I could figure out how to walk away rather than forcing something that would never be right.

Thank for you showing me what it’s like to be wanted, but also for showing me what it looks like when the pieces don’t fit. And for showing me what a relationship should be, and not just what I have gotten, what I could settle for.

Love,

The Girl Whose So Sorry She Couldn’t Love You.”


Blogger’s Note:

This is not my work. I was surfing and just lurking around the internet when I read this. It’s my first time coming across that website and it still has a lot of interesting reads in there.

I just really, really want this on my blog.

I, for one, have experienced first hand going into a relationship that I was not ready for and reading this made me think about what I’ve done and nonetheless, I hope he can read this. This is my way of saying I’m sorry.

This is by Jonny33 (as indicated in the website) and this is the original link in Puckermob: click here. Photo Credit is from Tumblr. I hope you guys enjoyed this wonderful read as much as I did and feel free to share your thoughts down on the comments box. 🙂

All the love,

Christine.

Red Flags.

“Be careful, darling
of them who are scared of intimacy,
of them who only yearns lust,
of a fellow who does not welcome you,
into his own blissful wasteland,
for that, darling,
are simple red flags.”

But mother,
after eluding

even the slightest
spectrum of vermilion,
of ruby and carmine,
of scarlet and crimson,

Love has eluded me.

Because mother,

I now understand.
—— I am a red flag.

Linger.

Somewhere between the haunting silence of 3 AM and the graceful rise of dawn, when the world is asleep and the sad minds wander, I received a message from you.

Three words that had me staring up at the ceiling, arousing forcefully forgotten memories back up the surface that had me clutching my sheets at night, willing myself not to break again for you, willing myself not to respond, willing myself to forget.

I longed to be your first choice. I longed to be someone you would’ve fought for. I longed for so long for any sign of you. I longed for any sign within the confines of this rain-drenched city that would bring me back to you. Us. Together. How silly it is that I still visit the blog you made for me, for us, every single day, for the past 730 days?

But two years was enough of a wait. I’ve had broken hearts in the process of trying to forget you, of trying to fix myself, and that was something I would never forgive myself for. I broke people just because I cannot fix myself, for how could one fix herself up with her missing pieces still clutched within your hands? I am not asking you to give those back to me. Deep wounds always leave scars. And my dad used to tell me that it’s okay to have scars. For scars are the stars of the universe. And like the stars, I guess you’ll forever be here in mine. A whole universe of you.

“Everyone always wants to know how you can tell when it’s true love, and the answer is this: when the pain doesn’t fade and the scars don’t heal, and it’s too damned late.”
― Jonathan Tropper, The Book of Joe

Precipice.

The problem with me is that I read too much romance novels that I do not know the difference between reality and fiction. I feel like I’m on a precipice of knowing, yet I am not.  I expect so much from people that I find it so disappointing when it didn’t happen the way I thought it would be. I get so caught up with every romantic gesture that I tend to forget that not all the books I have read have happy endings. That protagonists don’t always get what they want, even if they deserve it. That antagonists will always have a purpose and a lesson to teach you along the way. You just gotta have to read along and see where it takes you.

“One thing about writing this much… her brain never really shifted out of The World of Mages. When she sat down to write, she didn’t have to wade back into the story slowly, waiting to get used to the temperature. She was just there, all the time. All day. Real life was something happening in her peripheral vision.” – Rainbow Rowell, Fangirl.

Blue.

He came inside wearing sneakers caked with mud, faded jeans topped with a black leather jacket over a grey shirt stained with what looked like splatters of paint. His hair looked lopsided and messed up — like he just ran his hands through it.

He looked like his usual self.

He looked like hell.

Yet at that moment I have never seen someone look so beautiful in that disheveled state.

It’s weird.

How a person you’ve grown up with your whole life could suddenly seem so… likeable. This man, who has managed to make my childhood miserable by eating my cookies and stealing my markers, by telling my parents that he is never going to prom with me because I’m a cannibal because I eat my own nails and that I’m going to eat his nails, too.

He was unbearable. He was a bully.

Yet he was also the one who snapped the kid’s pencils who snapped my pencils because he said he’s the only one who could steal and snap whatever’s mine and he gave me his pencils so he has something that he could snap in two since it’s mine now.

He was insufferable. Intolerable.

But he was… nice.

And I realized how weird it is to spend half of your life with someone but never really notice the small details about that person. And right this moment as he was standing there, I had the urge to know the color of his eyes.

Look at me, turn around. I telepathically urge him to do so.

And right at that moment the world seemed to slow down and blur at the corners of my vision until all around him was a muddle of colors and all I could see was him as he turned in my direction and his eyes locked with mine.

“Hey, cookie-girl.”

 

Blue.

 

His eyes were blue.

Muse.

“Hi,” I heard him say.
I gripped my book tightly, feeling the old canvas on my palms. I can feel my neck flushing pink as I felt him come nearer. He took two steps forward until his mud-caked shoes were just a step away from my hands. I cleared my throat as I slowly raised my head to see him looking down at me with an amused smile on his face.

 

I tried to avoid his eyes. He already caught me staring at him. I wouldn’t want him to think that I like his eyes or anything.

 

“Hi back,” I give a tight-lipped smile.

 

My hands are sweating. Why are my hands sweating?

 

He should take a step back. His nearness is disconcerting.

 

“What’re you reading?”

 

I looked down and stared at the page I was at. Dumbledore just cast a spell at Harry to stay immobile underneath the Invisibility Cloak as the other Death Eaters come up the tower.

 

I probably took a long time staring at the page because he cleared his throat and said, “Well?” and started tapping his right foot in a rhythm.

 

“Umm, Harry Potter.”

 

“Yeah? Which one?”

 

“The sixth book.”

 

He sat in front of me, his legs bent, with his arms comfortably resting on his knees.

Now I can see his eyes and I can’t stop myself from looking.

 

 

Just looking.

 

 

“And that is…?” He waited, his eyebrows raising, giving me a close-lipped smile.

 

Dimples. He has on both sides of his cheeks.

 

 

He should keep smiling. Or he should not. The latter would be better, since I do not think a person could ever be as good looking with just simply smiling like that.

 

 

“That is what?” I repeated, dazed.

 

“What’s the sixth book?”

 

 

The sixth book? What IS the sixth book? I can’t think straight.

 

 

I close the book and slipped a finger on the page I was in to keep it in place. “The Half-Blood Prince.”

 

His smile disappeared and he nodded solemnly. “That’s the book where Dumbledore dies.”

 

I raised my chin and gave him a smug nod. “I know.”

“Yeah?” His gaze quickly went down to my book and back at me again. “You’re not even halfway yet.”

“I’m reading this for the third time.” I frowned.

“Okay,” He shrugged and smiled that lazy smile.

 

 

That slow smile.

 

 

“How’d you know?”

He grinned. “If you’re asking me if I’ve read it, the answer is I haven’t.”

“Then how’d you know?” My eyebrows creased in annoyance. This wonderful, wonderful human being.

 

“It was in a trivia. I’ve read it somewhere, I don’t even know why I still know that, but I do.” He laughed. Laughed. Like it was the funniest thing he has said.

“Oh,” was all I could generate in my dizzy and dazed head as a reply.

He smiled and reached out his hand. “I’m Dean.”

 

 

I looked at his hand like it was a tentacle that popped out his stomach.

 

 

His nails are cut square. Like, a kid’s. Cut until the soft, sensitive, pink skin is showing.

 

 

No. I can’t touch that. My hands are sweating and I can’t exactly wipe it on my jeans without him noticing.

 

 

I put my gaze back on his face. He’s still smiling.

 

 

He’s still waiting.

 

 

His hand is still there.

 

 

Too late. His hand is hanging there a fraction too long for me to refuse.

 

 

 

I gripped his hand.

 

 

 

His hand is soft, and he gripped my hand in a comfortable way. Not too tight, nor was it too loose.

 

 

His hand feels nice.

 

 

Oh, hell.

 

 

 

“I’m Catherine.”

 

 

 
 

featured image is not mine. Copyright to Favim.