…back to you

(Time by Ne-Yo playing)

Quite apprehensively, quite unsure, I braved myself turning the doorknob of our front door. I opened it, still standing on the porch though, fiddling my keys - and paused for a few seconds before actually stepping in.

My steps were light and small, as if I was too nervous disturbing the eerie silence that filled the house.

The living room was illuminated by a green, antique lampshade placed on a wooden sidetable. The same lampshade that helped me with my reading during our idle weekends, as I sat on our couch with your head rested on my lap. While reading, I would play with your hair as you hug a throw pillow and talk about your co-workers and your out-of-town trips, pausing every once in a while to solicit for my comment.

During our movie marathons, we either laid on the couch embracing one another or sitting together with a bowl of popcorn in between us. At times, the popcorn’s replaced by pints of ice cream, especially when we are watching heavy films you would always cry over. There was still ice cream stain on the couch. Cookies and cream, as you always liked it.

A few steps away was the kitchen. More memories. I could still see the two of us scurrying to and fro in panic trying to put out the fire in the oven when we were roasting chicken last April. It was a memorable anniversary indeed.

You loved cooking.

Whatever day it was, with or without a special occassion, you always found an excuse to try a new dish for us to share. When I got my driver’s license, it was a new twist of your tuna with pasta shells. The time we finally finished painting the cupboards, you prepared paella valenciana and Andalusian fried fish. It was Thai-style chicken and rice soup the night we made up after fighting over the last doughnut in the fridge.

The dining table was spotless. The sunflowers you brought home still served as the centerpiece. There were always flowers on the table, and every dinner there were also candles. I always thought I’d grow tired of the romance, but I never did. Every one felt like the first, I could still recall, when I couldn’t help myself looking at you intently while I stroke meat and veggies inattentively. I loved watching you eat. Your lips are closed, as your jaws gently chew a mouthful, your head partly tilted and then your brows slightly squint as you scrutinize your own cooking. I would giggle, you’d look at me, and then you’d smile back with the smile I loved the first time. Eyes partially closed, lips drawn to a narrow smile rather sideward.

I’ll never forget that smile.

The stairs creaked a little as they took my weight. The walls were covered with photos of me, of you, and of me and you together. I stood for a moment and looked. There was one when we went to Bora. You and I were kissing as i touched your face and your hands rested on my shoulders. It was sunset, and not much could be seen but our silhouette against a glittering sea and the crimson sun dissipating into the waters.

There were two taken in Baguio. On a cliff edge, I was carrying you on my back in one of the photos, my arms wildly waving over our heads while yours locked around my neck. The two of us were laughing like ecstatic toddlers on a field trip to the zoo. The second photo was the same, only you were the one carrying me.

Another one was during your birthday. You’ve just blown the candles, and I smothered your face with icing to everyone’s surprise. In the photo, some were laughing as others were shocked, but none had a mouth opened wider than yours. I remember saying sorry only to be smudged by icing myself.

Then, the other photos. Some out-of-town trips. Others at friends’ parties. A few just in the house. Mostly comical, but there were a handful which were rather dreamy and subtly romantic.

At that moment, I was reminded how much fun we used to have.

I took the first frame, with the photo of us kissing at sunset. I slowly  detached the backcover, gently removed the photo, placed the frame back on the wall, and looked at the photo one more time - this time a bit painstricken than amused - before I carefully hid it inside my pocket.

A few more steps. The next one seemed to be heavier than the first. I had to hold on to the rail so that I could keep my balance.

There it was. The last door. I stood numb and stiff in front of it, as if I was seven years old again, scared of the boogey monster that was lurking behind the door waiting for me to open it.

But I was not a kid anymore. There were no monsters, and there was no turning back. I held the doorknob, turned it slowly and opened the door.

I was greeted by somber light from our bedside lamp.

There was so much love in the room though. The memories reeked from every surface, every corner. Laughter took the place of the air inside, and it smelt of love and passion and forgiveness.

Forgiveness. That is what this night is all about.

You were still sleeping. I slowly walked closer. My insides were starting to stir up.

I stood beside you, enjoying the sight of you, remembering every detail of you.

You were fast asleep, just like the fragile baby - my baby - I used to share this bed with. It has been months since the last time I saw you, sleeping in this bed; you might not have noticed, because you’ve been away too long, but it has been months.

You just don’t know how long that was for me to be alone. You don’t know how lonely it was to be in that place you are in now, only without anyone standing beside you as I do right now. That was more than two hundred nights of me crying instead of sleeping, of wanting you beside me only to be left waiting. It wasn’t a bed, it was a prison.

You moved a little, let out a soft gasp. In your sleep, you called out my name.

That was all I needed. Tears started to fall from my eyes.

Indeed, there was so much love in this room, in this house. Our room, our house. But not anymore. The wallpapers were faded, the air was thin. It just isn’t the same.

All those time you left me alone, seemingly having forgotten me or neglected me even, I turned from furious to desperate to resolved. Now that I’ve made peace with what is, I don’t want to turn into anything else anymore. I hope you’ll understand.

As I pulled your blanket onto your shoulders, as I brushed your hair from your face, I was praying to God that I was doing the right thing.

As I silently wept, I was thinking of staying, because I didn’t want to leave only to ask what might have been, but it just didn’t seem enough waiting and asking and praying. I couldn’t blame you - I don’t want to - but you couldn’t blame me either for asking, "Why did you leave me alone?"

I was leaning close enough to you I could hear you breathing. Yes, I’ve finally forgiven you and this time it’s my turn asking…

"Forgive me", I whispered to your ears.

Then I closed my tearful eyes, touched your face one last time, and kissed you goodbye.