Note: This has been resting in my drafts for the longest time. I don’t feel the same way anymore, but I want to throw this out in the open. The names are changed.
May 16, 2015. I haven’t eaten anything today, except a softdrink and a pasta when I was walking around the mall, waiting for my new eyeglasses.
I feel so hollow. Empty. I was a blank, a void, a nothing. The world had robbed me of all the emotions I had associated with happiness. I only know of pain. Yet I’m so numb. I’m so numb.
Yesterday, May 15 2015, I confessed to him. That was the first confession I ever did in my whole life. And that was the first time I cried in someone’s presence. The first time I bared myself naked to someone. The first time I let someone in the darkest part of my being.
It was a long story. I don’t know how to go into details. It hurts. All I know is that it hurts it’s making me numb. It hurts so much it’s making me numb.
He did not reject me. He said he liked me back. But it was too late.
I was too late.
There is someone else already.
I don’t exactly know how to feel about it because throughout that bloody confession, he made it seem like he wants me to hold on.
I was trying to run away after confessing. I was shaking then. His back faced my back. And I made him promise not to look at me. I told him I had to leave. That he can make me leave. That he doesn’t have to say or do anything. That I’d be fine. That I’m shaking. I’m really shaking. But he refused to let me go. He pulled me back, saying I had to stay. That he had a lot to say. That I have a lot to know. That there is so much I don’t know. He asked me when did it start. When did I start having feelings for him. He apologized for asking. I said it was when he invited me for coffee. He was talking but I interrupted. I said I know it’s stupid because he liked Georgia then. I said it was a difficult evening for me then because he chose to tell me he liked Georgia on a supposedly romantic day for me. He said he remembers it. That he remembers that evening vividly.
“But you were suppose to call her instead. You even had to justify why you had called me. And you know what? That made me feel like shit.”
“But I called you. You’re the first person I called. You’re the one I called.”
What’s the point, I asked him. I said it’s pointless to talk about it now. He asked me if I noticed something new about him. I mentioned Julie. He did not deny it. He asked me if I was in the Redtape, and he began telling me how it all started between them. I didn’t know why he was telling me about it. He said he liked me. He persistently asked me if I believe him. I said I don’t know. I asked him what’s the point. I told him it’s pointless. That it doesn’t matter because he’s with Julie now. Then I asked him, “Was I too late? I was late, huh?”, my voice shaking. But then he went on with the story about Julie. I was palpitating. He started referring to her namelessly. I couldn’t breathe. Tears dripped down my cheeks as he went deeper. All I could hear and see in my head then is the glaring fact that it was too late. That I wasn’t aggressive enough. That I wasn’t touchy enough. That I wasn’t showy enough. He said we didn’t see each other for too long for some time, when Julie got into the picture. He said she was touchy. And he became touchy with her too. He said they’ve done things already, things that would change how people perceive him. I asked him to stop. I told him he doesn’t have to say it if it’s hurtful. I pleaded him to let me go. I tried to run. He pulled me again. I don’t know if his back remained unturned, but I began sobbing with my back facing him. He went into more details and I felt numb. I was getting numb. He asked me again if I believe him. I said I don’t know. I couldn’t feel anything anymore. Then he said it again.
“I like you”.
He said that I was so weird and he liked it. That my unpredictability was what he found so attractive about me. I asked him to stop. He was giving me false hopes. I cried. I started crying. He asked me not to. I apologized. I apologized and apologized. I cried, cried, cried, and cried. And then I stopped. He went on. He said he saw this confession coming when I texted him that afternoon. He said he felt it when I asked him to close his eyes. A long silence ensued. I asked him if he was scared then. He said yes, because he was unprepared. That I was unfair, because I prepared for it. He cyclically elaborated about us. About what he doesn’t want to happen to us. I couldn’t feel anything anymore. I switched to douchebag mode. I was normal again. I was talking to him casually like nothing mattered anymore. I was laughing. I was scoffing at his points. We started talking about philosophy, about freewill, and the usual things. It was a long conversation.
But I felt okay. Because I felt nothing.
He kept reiterating that the thing between him and Julie was trivial and superficial. That he liked me too. That he thought it’s a waste what could have been between us. I asked him to stop because it’s pointless.
He kept giving me false hopes throughout the conversation. He made it seem like he wants me to hold on.
And I don’t know. I don’t know.
Our orgmates were looking for him then. It was about 6:15pm. I asked him to leave, and swore I’d be fine. I told him he can’t do anything about how I feel, and he’s now relegated to my dark past. I was playfully mocking him. But then he asked me if he could hug me. I laughed and scoffed. I said whatever. I told him he still couldn’t look at me or see me. That he has to go where I would not see him. But he stood up and stood in front of me. I hid my face behind my palms. I told him he’s being unfair. But he remained in front of me. I moved my hands away from my face and looked away. The wind blew, the sun beaming on my swelling eyes. I told him he has nothing to worry about, that I’m not as weak as he thinks. He sat beside me. He insisted he doesn’t want to leave me that way. I said he can’t do anything about it. That he’s just guilty. I just got rejected. I need a time alone to let it sink it. He countered, repeating it’s not rejection, but conceded if I insist to put it that way. It was the nth time we had a long silence. He hugged me tight from the side. I remained unmoved, tensed and unfeeling. Then he left.
I looked at his back as he walked away. I looked at the sky, and as soon as he was out of sight, I broke down into tears.
This is extremely summarized. I can’t go into details. It was too long, too vague, and too hurtful.
But the point is, we can’t be together. And I’m choosing to move on.
But he left me with false hopes.
He left me with fucking false hopes.