I was nineteen. I was having the time of my life – savouring the thought of not having to care, not being held back or chained up to anything. When I met you, things changed for me. I was terrified because you had that certain hold on me. I tried to escape only to find myself falling back into your arms. It was too potent. I woke up one morning and told myself I can’t let this happen. I can’t fall for you because I was afraid that ultimately either one of us is going to get hurt. I can’t be paralyzed without you. I can’t let myself be that close to you. I just can’t. I felt like a ticking bomb. It’s as if you can’t go anywhere near me because with slight contact, I might abruptly explode. The thought of us having an expiration date scared the hell out of me. It was crazy.

I ignored you just because I had to let go of those feelings. I mean, how could this possibly happen? To me? The girl who is always in control of things? The one who knows exactly what she wants and is always so certain about things? That time, I wasn’t so sure anymore. So I kept pushing you away, thinking it’ll make these unsettled feelings set off along with you. But they didn’t. And pushing you away? It was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

It has always been like fate is constantly finding a way of bringing us together. When I needed someone, you were there waiting for me to call your name. When I’m having a bad day, you were there standing at the end of the staircase with the sole purpose of making me laugh at the end of the day. Corny jokes. But they make every ill feeling seem lighter anyway. Yet every time you’re there, what do I do? I look away right away. Avoiding destiny. Running away from chance. Chance to get closer. Chance to spend time together. Chance to finally admit to myself that I indeed was feeling something. And I knew it. Still, I pretended that I didn’t buy it.

I miss them, all the same. The way you look at me. The way you say my name. The way you come up to me just to see how I was doing. The way you make fun of me. Your jokes. Your smile. Your sarcasm. Your drunk moments. Your laugh. Your good taste in music. Our quick trips to the shopping arcades. Chillin’ on the rooftop just gazing at the stars. Those movie nights spent just the two of us – the comfortable silence, the sharing of cereals, chips, and chocolates, the smirks and sarcastic remarks. Do you remember? After the movie, when the credits roll, we will both stare at the TV screen for about eight seconds and then laugh in unison right after. Then, we’ll talk about just how silly, mushy, or feel-good the film was and then end the day with a sweet heart-melting line: “We should do this more often.” A sweet simple hug then I’m off to my room. It was so cute.

I feel brutal for trying to hold back my emotions. You got nothing from me, that is. Not even a tinge of care. And I hate myself for being so unfair to you. I know you didn’t deserve any of this. Maybe you really just don’t deserve me. I’m sorry.

Then again, everything’s my fault. It was such a maddening long game of Hide and Seek. Perhaps Serendipity got tired eventually. Perhaps Serendipity got tired of me.

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When you feel in your skin, in your bones, and the hollow of your heart, there's no way you can't wait till tomorrow.