Somehow, I know I have to let go. There's no point in entertaining the thoughts of any positive result that would come my way if I would pursue my interest. How did I say it as we walked back to the office: "People come and go," trying not to look at her since it would only pain me seeing her face as she ambled as if she did not care anything about the world she would leave.
I still tried to goof around, fishing a candy out of my pocket and stealthily, as if she would not notice it, I held her hand and gave the candy, smirking. Or did I winked. Or grinned sheepishly at our own little joke about my perennial need for it.
How did she take it? She said she would keep the candy. A souvenir. A token of our tempestuous short professional relationship replete with everyday argument of my pestering whines to raise the bar a little notch higher than what we could do. But when she said she would keep the candy, it came to me as if she said: "I'll wait for you." Or something like "You mean a lot to me. I care also about you."
But thinking about it now, I sure had mesmerized myself with her charming civility. Interpreted something that had no meaning as a reciprocation of my implicit attraction to her.
Didn't I react with great surprise upon hearing her leaving, or rather the news that she had left already. I got my worn-out cell phone and sent her my disappointment and feeling of lost. I asked her arduously where she was then. I got to see her. If not, my heart would stop as if freezed by cryogenic liquid; the too heart brittle to the point that another beat would break it into pieces.
Haven't I said that I rushed down the building, walked/ran the street to find the place where she said she was having a lunch with her best friend. Rushed of blood in my head, panting, I longed to see her for the last time.
Nevertheless, that is over. There is no point delving too much on the details of that overwhelming sad day.
She defined my several later after she left when we chanced our selves on the net; E for Endearingly annoying; R for romanticizing about my magazine; N for Naughty but deep, like a raging ocean. She should have said raging in furious explosion of gaseous elements forming a huge galactic nebula in the universe.
Yeah. I gave some parts of my soul to her. As if she would really know me. Dig me. (Though she said it didn't mean that if she did not care that she could not understand me. But my question was if she understood too, why the clash between our professional relationship.)
Ah, nonsense.
She is gone. For good.
The promise! So what about it? That we would find time to share our soul over bottles of light beers. Nah! It would never happen. T'was the trick created by a peek (or a show off) of an old battered sould to an an excited young one trying to find her place under the sun.
I tried didn't I. But I ended up a pesty bugger under her nose. "Pasensya na po. Don't worry, I will never bother you again. Pasensya na po uli."
Probably, I denied the obvious fact that there had been/was/is never been a natural common ground by which we can call ourselves really close.
To yak about it is really senseless. People come and go, didn't I say?
Right now, there is nothing better for me to do than try to take off, being a young writer.
Ah, what did Jack Kerouac said?
Somewhere along the line I knew there'd be girls, visions, everything; somewhere along the line the pearl would be handed down to me.
Nice said. Indeed, nicely said.
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