I enjoy staring at you when you’re oblivious of my presence. It’s but a chance for me to study your face, to memorize each move, to hear the voices within you—they keep on telling me to leave you, but I used to ignore all of them.
And then you’d catch me staring—hence you’d give me that wonted nonchalant smile, the kind that is inexplicably bizarre to me. A kind of smile I couldn’t correctly decode, a kind of smile I succumbed into, when it first showed up, in that park where I met you.
I enjoy looking at you despite the fact that you wouldn’t do it to me the way i do. I stare at you as if I won’t see you again—’cause I know mornings with you is vague and uncertain.
Then last night you said, I can’t leave her. I shouted at you, cussed you, hurt you. But you put an end to the war I created, using the same line you just said in the beginning of it—I can’t leave her.
Why can’t you?
I asked this to you, but no words came out of me. This query seemed so heavy, my strength is not enough to say them clearly. It’s outright lucid to me, that I am that girl you would go to, just when you’re feeling blue.
But today something’s telling me how wrong this is.
I am that girl who patiently waits for you but it’s getting tedious.
I am that girl who listens to you when no one else could, but now it’s suffocating.
I am that girl who loves you despite your blemishes, but now it’s making me sick.
I whined for the things you should have done, I craved for the words you should have said. I kept on believing there could be a change. But there’s none, guess I was insane.
I was insane—for I hoped one day you look at me the way I look at you. But now that I’m staring at you, your body seemed to be telling me that there’s no way you would ever do.
I wished that maybe one day you’ll make me first. But your heart seemed to be telling me—I only fit to number two.
Been looking at you for almost an hour now and you’re sleeping like a baby–you’re fully incognizant of what’s going on my mind, of my plan to escape.
Been couple of years since you jailed me in this house, it’s shaky already, it’s no longer enough for me.
I thought to myself, it’s time to leave, ’cause I have to live.
To live normally, to love conventionally, to find someone else who could make me his top priority.
I silently opened the drawer, picked up that old sepia colored piece of paper, wrote a five word message that said, “I deserve better than this.”
I put the note in our bed, at the side I usually slept in whenever he’s here.
I hurriedly packed my things, with no more thinking, no more hesitating.
I went to the door carrying a heart that’s crushing, trying to stop the tears from bursting, persuading my whole being to never look back again.
Before I could manage to close the door, before I reward myself of such freedom, I looked at him one last time.
In my head, I thanked him. I wouldn’t be able to know my worth if I didn’t let it melt with his hands, if I didn’t give my all to him.
I lost myself in the bed of this wrong love. I lost everything and that’s when I figured it’s time to flee.
Just like realizing one’s importance, not by its presence, but by the mere absence of it.