u/commander_blast

There was a boy who loved you with such intensity, such fire, that sometimes even he forgot where he ended and you began.

That boy is dead now.

Not because he stopped knowing how to love, but because you taught him that loving someone that deeply can be dangerous.

You broke me.

And no, I can't be friends with you. If you can be friends with all your exes, I can't. How can I be friends with someone who I loved deeply and everything I have?

I don't usually blame people for the pieces I become. But this time, I will make an exception. You broke something in me that I don't think I'll ever put back together. I am cautious now. Always watching. Always waiting for the moment someone decides to leave.

I should have walked away the first time you hurt me.

I should have walked away when I saw the Grindr app on your phone, when someone told me that you had a Grindr profile.

I should have left while I still had the strength to choose myself.

But I stayed because it's you.

And perhaps that is the part I will always have difficulty forgiving—not you, but the version of me who endured it all.

You asked me that night if I was angry. Yes. I was angry.

And beneath the anger was something far more painful.

I was disappointed that the person I loved could become the person I needed protection from.

A part of me will always love you. I won't lie about that. Some loves don't disappear simply because you finally learn to walk away from them.

But you will never hear that love from me again.

And I ask only one thing.

If you ever see me somewhere—eating alone, walking down a street, simply living my life—please let me be.

Don't come over.

Don't ask how I am.

Don't try to reopen a door I spent so much time learning to close.

It isn't because our past meant nothing.

It meant everything.

That's precisely why I cannot go back.

Because every time I look at you, I would also see the person I used to be—the boy who loved without hesitation, who forgave too much, who stayed when he should have left.

And I have too much respect for that boy to betray him again.

So let me walk away.

Let me become someone who loves differently.

And if you ever wonder whether I loved you deeply.

You won't have to wonder.

You already know.

That was the problem.

I loved you enough to stay.

Now I love myself enough to leave.

My teammates are insisting I go onsite because it’s the “last showcase.” Fascinating. As though the phrase itself has the magical ability to part flooded roads, summon available transportation, and make this weather suddenly reasonable.

What truly amuses me is that they all have cars. It’s remarkably easy to volunteer someone else’s inconvenience when you’re sitting comfortably behind a steering wheel.

Then came the inevitable question: “Hindi mo ba magawan ng paraan?”

A charming assumption. As if I woke up this morning and decided that commuting from QC to BGC in this weather would be a delightful recreational activity. Believe me, I exhausted the options before I exhausted my patience.

Unless they’re planning to cover the absurd TNVS fare that comes with this storm, perhaps they should stop treating logistics like a lack of effort.

Some people have the luxury of thinking every problem can be solved with determination. The rest of us have to deal with reality.

It’s strange what dreams can do. How they can fool the mind into believing something is real. So real that you can feel the warmth of a touch, hear the weight of a voice, and carry the ache of an emotion even after waking.

I dreamed of you just now.

We were arguing. Not the kind that breaks people, but the kind that comes from still caring enough to stay and fight through the noise. And then, just as I reached for your face, just as my hands were about to hold something I’ve missed for so long, I woke up. There were tears on my face.

And now here I am, staring at the ceiling, replaying every second of it like a cruel little film my mind refuses to let end.

I hope when I fall asleep again, I’ll see you there.

Because the truth is, I’m beginning to forget your face. The lines of it. The way your eyes looked when they softened. And that thought terrifies me more than I’d like to admit.

But somehow, I’m grateful for the dream. I’ve been wishing for you to visit me there, in that quiet place where memory still lets us exist even if only for a moment.