To one familiar person

This morning I woke up with the sun shining on my face. As I stare back at it and try desperately to defeat its brightness, I wished you were there to block it. To at least help me see right through it. But you weren't. Too bad, you never were.

I stood up and closed my window curtains, and as I walk pass through my study table, I saw our picture together. The 'us' were too happy and too in love in the photo. We were too tight and too inseparable. We were perfect - until 'perfect' meant fights, misunderstandings, and goodbyes.

However, upon looking at the photo - at the almost-new-and-true photo, I thought, I still wish to see this familiar face again.

The face of a person which lips beam when smiling and radiates proudly and sincere whenever I conquer my fears. He, who lifts my spirit up when I'm down at the dumps, and whenever I lose hope,  reaches for my hand - squeezes it gently - then whispers to my ears that everything will be fine.

I brushed the photo with my fingers...

I wish to hear a familiar voice - the voice that speaks nothing but sweetness and goodness. The only voice that I permit to utter my name loudly for it sounds a hundred times better than any voice can. The voice I can never forget for singing Hero by Enrique Iglesias to me over the phone during midnight just to cheer me up and make me feel loved. That husky voice, how could I resist?

I hummed a line or two of the song, then I remembered how every morning you make sure you're the first person I hear - You never failed to make me feel important because you love me, and I loved it. I loved you.

I sat on my bed with our photo in my hand. I can't imagine how these two people who are so madly in love with each other turned into strangers.

One day, all the adjectives I used to describe you turned into words I would describe an enemy. I never thought that such an angelic face, such a sweet voice, can tell me lies. And as each day went by, your promises turned into stones one by one.

We daydreamed about spending our little humble lives together - we will build our dream house somewhere in Tagaytay or Parañaque, then we'll have four kids, one of them will be named Bryce. You said no matter how busy we will be, because of our work, we will still find time for our family - you had it all figured out. Every time you tell me you'll marry me in my dream Church, and propose to me on the most unexpected ways, my heart jumps for joy... I drowned in your plans about our future together, but I still loved it. I looked forward to it. I hoped.

But I did not anticipate the fall of it all.

Slowly, your bright smiles turned into tired frowns - as if you lost your interests in me. At first, I told myself maybe you only had a bad day, but it went on to a week, then to months.

I fell in love with how you talk. But suddenly, I was afraid to hear you say anything. You spoke nothing but sweetness and goodness until you learned how to lie. You had your reasons and excuses - tons of them, actually. But I still forgave you.

Until one day, you learned how to say goodbye.

I told myself, you'll come back. That's how it has always been. We'll say things to each other - bad things - then we'll apologize, make-up, and we're back on being the happiest couple. And so, I waited... and waited. But you never looked back.

This time, I demanded for a reason - I'll be okay with an excuse. But you didn't care to tell me anything. I should be mad. I should shout, and break things, and curse - but I chose to forgive you, still. Because I loved you... and you don't hold grudges to someone you love.

As I look at our picture together, I realized, these two people in the photo had their reasons to walk away, to grow apart, to let go. It's just that, I didn't know your reason. We met and fell for each other, then suddenly we decided to forget. What happened? 

I stood up, put our photo in the bedside table drawer, and locked it. Someday, I know, I'll bump into that familiar face again and hear that familiar voice. I know - I hope - someday I will see you again.

*fiction