Here’s to the boy I constantly wrote about.
To the boy who was the main character to all my stories, all the ones he ever loved.
Who boasted himself of his music taste until I listened to a music genre I never liked because it reminded me of the moments when the tar was slick with raindrops and my hands were kept in his, the kind of warmth no heater can replace.
I’d like to apologise for all the stories I kept from you. The personal letters kept inside a hidden folder addressed to you that I never had the guts to send. I can tell you one thing though, the past few letters were nothing more than counting down to this moment. The moment where you finally realise I was anchoring you down from achieving greater things in your life. I understand that you’re angry at how we drifted apart, or more likely, how I pushed you away but just know that a day hasn’t passed that I haven’t thought about texting you again ever since we stopped. I guess it’s hard to get used to breaking a habit I had for the past 3 years. What else is there to say but the countdown struck one and our expiry dates finally came. I know you’re doing better now and I’m proud of you.
My writings has not died with you. I’m sorry I broke that promise.