Way more than nostalgia.

Your face appeared to me as if it was a scintillating gleam of variegated light. Every little majestic motion were painfully subjective. I was very phlegmatic that time. After the incident, I composed myself and tried to recall things. Things that hinted me the cues that you needed someone. A friend may be, or more than what a friend can offer. I tried shouting words that I can help you through my very conspicuous actions, but repudiation from your silence had stopped me. That very moment, I considered myself not worthy of anyone’s love. Of your love. Of my dream love.

My aspiration was to be with someone. And it has always been you since the day I fell in love with your heart. It took me sunrises and sunsets to finally admit to myself that the way I view our friendship was more than the way you see it. I veered into the common way of escaping the feeling, but it was very consuming and efficacious. I decided not to do any actions about it.

Here I am. Deeply perplexed with the thought of you. Making myself preoccupied with every bit and detail of you. Trying to extend the values of my resiliency and exerting all my might to tell everyone including myself that I am alright and will always be.

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