Crazy little thing called love


There are too many things about you that I remember perfectly. It’s the way you laugh, the aftershave you spray on your shirt, the smell of your car, the way you get cranky when you’re hungry, the way you call my name, the way you calm me down with such a soothing tone like no one can do, and every other little details.

I keep too many questions for myself, on account of preventing you to move further away. I’ve been thinking ‘What if…’ for too many times, and this is another one. What if that night never happened? What if I never told you the truth? What if we kept playing stupid? Because almost every night, as I lie in bed, I condemn myself for being too blunt.

I never thought that I missed you until I met you, and smelled your familiar scent and saw your favorite shirt that you wore. And then I thought, what the hell have you done, dear stupid self? Now all I have left from you is a navy blue Tintin bag that you bought for me in Singapore, a stack of old photos that I can’t even see because it reminds me of good old days that slipped by silently, and old messages in my inbox that I still read sometimes to remind myself that those things with you did happen.

Hey, do you miss the reckless things we do, like dancing in the rain, spending much money in a day like spoiled brats, singing at the top of our lungs, coming home late and passing the curfew without the slightest regret?

I do. And I do miss you.

Don’t you think it’s funny when we sang Gotye’s Somebody That I Used to Know after all that happened? I almost laughed as the words hit me.

Well you said we would still be friends
You didn’t have to cut me off
Make out like it never happened and that we were nothing
But you treat me like a stranger and that feels so rough.

And then that night happened, when we curled up in a blanket, and I said your name out loud. I didn’t have enough guts to look at your eyes. We confided, and did things we were afraid of. And that night, I finally heard you play the piano, something I was longing to do for quite a long time. And when I found out that you still remembered my dreams about going to Europe and write, which I told you more than a year before, well, it was another slap for me.

How could good things become nothing?

And now I deplore the unspoken question that I should have asked you that night.

What happened to us?

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