The Last Night, The Last Day

I remember that night. I remember that day. I remember things vividly and clearly, the good ones and the bad ones. A lot of nights spent wondering, and a lot of nights spent busy but what's the point? I miss what we had but you know what's the toughest feeling? It's keeping something close to your heart when you no longer have it. I miss it. I want it. But I don't want to hold on to just the memory of it.

I remember the last night you kept your door open for me, and a space next to you for me, two pillows side by side. I worked late, but I still came. I stood by your window and saw the view I love, those high rise buildings, and the twinkling lights I used to watch every night before falling asleep. I hate you for not introducing me to that view earlier. It reminded me a lot of things, some happy, some upsetting, but I felt a connection to it.

As I took my eyes off the window, I saw you sleeping, my favorite view, and my favorite person in the same frame. What more could I've asked for? But something held me back, and I didn't stay, I sat for a while, and then I left. As much as I wanted to stay by your side, whisper in your ear that I was here, I didn't. It was my way of telling myself that we are going our separate ways, and everything has ended. Maybe I was just preparing myself for the end before it actually happened. I remember it as it was yesterday, I was overwhelmed by the thought of us coming to an end. No seeing you, sitting next to you and changing the music every 30 seconds, or fighting with you? I was fine before, but how would I live after this? Leaving you was not easy that night, but I wish I had the courage to wipe you out of my mind completely that same night.

When I was closing the door on my way out, my heart sank, and I thought a hundred times whether or not I should close it. I could feel what Presley sang, "shall I stay? would it be a sin?" Should I sin and face the consequences later "but I can't help falling in love with you". Would your door be closed forever, or would you wake up and open it for me if I came back? Instead of waking me up, would you wake up if I called your name? I cried that night, but of all the crying nights that followed, I would still choose that over them all.

The next day, or should I say the last one together, you said "I love you" to me, I didn't know how to respond, and tears rolled down my cheeks, and we just sat still for I don't know how long. In those three words, you said everything you could, and I wish you could've read the ineffable love in my eyes. Holding each other for the last time, that last day, last stare, I wish our story had ended right there. What a beautiful ending it would've been. But fate isn't that kind. 

The same story, the same person who gave me so much love, gave me so much pain. As they say, every coin has two sides and so did our little story. My life soon started to feel like that game, two truths and a lie. It turns out, that I am terrible at lying, but not everyone is a novice. I asked for just two little things, but maybe a favor is too much to ask, and maybe staying honest with someone is the biggest ask of all and one lie triumphed over everything. What once was a silly game is now a metaphor for life that not all lies are playful and not all truths are easy to spot. 

The lines between truth and lies blur so easily in life, don't they? I thought growing older would make me wise, but sometimes I feel like that same 11-year old girl who believed it when someone told her that her best friend hated her. Is it really that easy to fool me, or am I just fooling myself? The world is full of lies, some subtle, some glaring, and we often fall prey to them because we want to believe in something, even if it's not real. So, how do we tell the difference? How do we protect ourselves from the lies we're told or worse, the ones we tell ourselves? Maybe the real game isn't about spotting others' lies but learning to face our own truths.

I don't want to lie to myself anymore. I don't want to believe in a reality that doesn't exist. A bubble that would break me piece by piece; I don't want to put myself in that situation again where picking up my pieces hurt like hell. The door closed behind me, and maybe it never reopened. But outside that door, there's a world waiting.

The day you said "I love you" was the last time I saw you. And honestly, I'd trade anything for that to be the last memory of you.