Of course I miss those lazy afternoons with us idling around, just watching some random movie from HBO, drinking Coke and eating those Jalapeno Cheetos which you love. Eating ice cream. Trying to eat that durian I bought you just because you said you love durian and laughing at how that made the whole fridge smell funky. I remember how I'd try to touch you all the time and how you'd pull back more often than not, but when you put down your guard and you allow my hand to touch yours, it felt great all the same.
I remember that week when you were sick and I had to take care of you since no one was there for you. How I'd go to your place to bring you bananas and milk, melons and meds. I'd buy us some dinner and I'd text you, asking what you like and you'd say anything would be fine. Except that you don't like this or that. And I'll arrive at your house, arms loaded with brown paper bags and how we'd laugh about the situation - like I was the husband working his ass off bringing groceries home and you're the wife, staying at home doing chores and taking care of the dogs. And I'd pretend to complain, like husbands do, and you'd threaten me by saying "So you're complaining now?" and I'd just laugh because though it was stressful, traveling from Marikina to Las Pinas every night, it felt great taking care of you.
I remember how Haggie would bark when we're watching "Ina, Kapatid, Anak" because there was poop in her cage and how you'd yell at her and when you're coughing I'd imitate your voice and I'd yell "Haggie!" to you too and inwardly, I'd laugh because it felt like a simple kind of life. Local TV, dogs, Xian Lim, and you. And me.
And I remember all those times we were simply lying there on your very comfy bed. The light from the windows dim and clothes hanging everywhere and Snow underfoot. And how I couldn't resist not hugging you or not kissing you or not undressing you and you'd get mad at me and you'd warn me with a pointed "Bry, what are you doing?" and I'd desist but then I'll start again and we'll end up wrestling each other on your bed. And of course, if it was Friday, I get to stay for the night and you let me wear one of your short shorts and I do not have to worry about the sound of cars approaching just in case it was your uncle. How I'd never forget that one night when you said you wish it was Friday so I could stay and that would make you really happy. I simply shrugged that off right then, but I'm telling you now that I never forgot that. Nor that time when you called me "Baby Bry" and I asked "So am I your boyfriend now?" and you said "No, not yet" and I did not feel as disappointed as I thought because I hadn't been expecting much in the first place.
And I remember that time when you'd leap into my arms without warning and I'd struggle to keep you up though my knees felt like they would buckle at any moment. And you'd ask me "Kaya mo ba ako?" teasingly and I'd boast and say yes because even if it was tough keeping you in my arms, I still want you to be there. It took all of my strength but then I gave up and now you're gone and of course I'd hurt you towards the end because what you said to me had been more hurtful. Of course I'd save myself because I couldn't withstand another fall. Because with you, I've already fallen.
And now when I play Taylor Swift's "Begin Again", I still remember that glorious Wednesday afternoon at Bag of Beans. With you sipping tea, the sunlight flitting through the screens and making patterns over your hair, and us talking about art installations. How I couldn't keep my eyes off of you. I still remember all those things but I don't feel sad anymore. I can't even afford to let myself feel that anymore.
I don't know why I'm writing this. I don't know what's the use. But perhaps it wouldn't do any harm to admit that after all this time, your name still lingers over my head. That I still haven't erased your messages. That it is still you I couldn't help but remember when I'm texting someone new. because I think no one can beat the special moments that we've had. I couldn't help it but it is still you. It's still you.
No comments:
Post a Comment