My dearest you,
I go ’round and ’round our story–delving into the varied instances of you and me. I get weary of the persistent, redundant oeuvres that I keep writing about you. Mayhap, if you read my verses, I’m sure, you’ll get tired of them, too.
Why don’t you read me? Perchance, if you get to read a bit of my concoctions, you’d glean the resemblance I speak of and you’d laugh and laugh, I’m sure.
I feel like a fool, fashioning write-ups that revolve around you–you know, the myriad of scenes that simultaneously pop up whenever I start scribbling. It seems utterly clichéd that you’ve become the ultimate exemplar of this thing called love to me.
You know, I still recall that first time we met. After several weeks of continuous correspondence, we decided to finally meet. It was to be a group date and I felt hesitant, at first. Look, I was nervous and shy, dude! I wanted to make that first good impression, of course. You cajoled me, non-stop, until I decided to relent.
We opted to meet at that convenience store in the city. It was suitably a safe and public place to meet someone for the first time. It was raining and I was holding my umbrella–careful not to get wet and look like a sopping bird in front of you. You were late and I was endeavoring to stay composed.
Suddenly, I looked up; then, a tall, dark, and handsome–well, you know the drill–man appeared beside me. It was you and you were smiling, kindly, at me.
Someone once told me that when you discover the love of your life, everything else fades and becomes nil. I never told you but that was exactly what happened to me when I saw you, at last. I acted normal–cool and confident–and you conducted yourself in a similar way. We took off from there and joined the said rendezvous with friends.
It was a whirlwind romance. Soon, we were always together. You came to pick me up from work. We went out on dates. We got to know each other so well–until, our schedules became one and the same; your world became mine and mine became yours. People gradually came to recognize our relationship. Family and friends saw us as a pair. We both believed we were a pair and the world became much brighter then–or so we assumed.
We knew that we had to have times of brief, interim pauses. Being both practical professionals, we were both focused on our individual careers–you, the future computer expert; me, the future published writer. Yet, knowledge shall never equate experience.
The day eventually came when we had to enact our temporary, separate voyages. You had to go find a better job; I was about to accept an interesting offer of work. Realistic minds, both you and I–okay, I was never that realistic, but I was trying to be!
The sad thing is, fate doesn’t really offer the same lucky chance twice. You see, the second we drifted off from each other, destiny began keeping us apart. Slowly, schedules ceased being identical; the cultural differences became evident; daily activities weren’t alike; et cetera, et cetera.
I miss you. I’ve been missing you since the day you stepped into that airplane. I miss you, everyday. It’s ludicrously foolish, I know; but, I presume that I’ll miss you, always. Because, I realize that you’ll never make it back to me–even when I keep praying for that, each day.
Yet, I truly hope you’re alright and that you get to remember me, sometimes–and, perhaps, you’ll understand if I unintentionally write about you, a lot of times. You see, maybe it’s my heart’s manner of surviving a vacuous journey without the love of my life.