Just Like Her

The morning was beautiful. Just like her. Maybe she's not the most beautiful girl in the world. But she was to me. She was my world. As difficult as it is for me to remember, as painful it is for me to think, the fact of the matter is no matter how much I have convinced myself that I have moved on, I am still uncertain to the validity of that claim. But I do my best every passing day to push myself forward and let go of the past. Moving on is a simple thing, but what we leave behind is hard. And if someday I finally move on and forget, I want to leave a testament to how true I was and how much I treasured every waking moment that I've spent with her. Perhaps someday she'll see. Most likely not. But none of what I have to say today matters to her nor to anyone else. I'm writing for myself. Not just in case I forgot about her. But also in case I forgot myself.

The morning was beautiful. Just like her. Maybe she's not the most beautiful girl in the world. But to me she was. She was my world.

We were in their living room. On the sofa. We had just gotten back from eating out for breakfast. We still had a few more hours. We still had time. Though it was ticking down and once again I felt like I was some sort of convict on death row. Afraid of dying and never seeing her again. Not really afraid of dying... more like afraid of never seeing her again. I sat on the left side of the seat, sipping on some orange G2. And she laid on the thing with her legs on my lap. I'd occasionally put my arm on her leg when I'm not drinking the beverage. We watched the TV as it played this VHS cassette of Kiki's Delivery Service that she have always wanted me to see for a very long time. And we finally got around to doing so. It seemed like a good movie to me at the time. Only after it ended that I realized how much more it would become to me. A movie that would hold such a mark in my life. That each time I see it or hear about it, I just think of that day. Think of her.

(Kiki's Delivery Service is a great movie. I'm not ashamed to admit it.)

The movie was quite enjoyable. And it caught my attention quite well during that time we were there to watch it. Though, this tension and sense of sadness we both had were apparent. But I still did my best to enjoy the movie and pay attention. The story itself isn't my cup of tea. But I suppose the black cat in it kept my interest and had me watching the whole thing until the end. I still have a copy of it in my PC. For a while, I watched it every July 12th. But I don't think I did this year. That's probably a good sign.

It ended and we both remained on the sofa. My drink was finished as well. She had put the cassette back in its case and placed it where it was before. I remained sat down on the very same spot she had left me when she stood up to put the movie away. I smiled and looked at her. I told her how much of a great movie it was and that I was glad she showed it to me. We talked about how well the movies of this Miyazaki were. She did show me more of this movie maker's work, like Ponyo and Totoro. She did expose me to many things. And despite her lack of presence in my life now, I am thankful for the fact that I have been blessed the chance to have spent some time with her even though it was sadly short lived.

She sat back beside me, still placing her legs on my lap. My left arm over them and my right on her waist. We talked a bit more. And we talked a little bit more after that. She was the only girl I've been with that was very easy to talk to. I felt like we could talk for days, weeks, forever. I never even believed in forever. But I did. For her. It's quite ironic, quite tragic.
She looked at me, and I looked back. Then smiled. She never failed to make me do so. I could be having a really bad day and it would be better almost immediately once I see her. Or even just think about her. It's quite ironic now, quite tragic.
But then I saw the fake smile in her face fade into a familiar thing I recognize, sorrow. I knew what she felt. And I know she knew that I felt the same. Her eyes turned from bright to teary. I have always promised myself to never make her cry. I have failed, once again. But not because I hurt her intentionally. Not because I cheated or said anything hurtful. But just because of something we both had no control over. Sadness almost overwhelmed me. And I took my left hand and wiped the tears from her eyes. I told her it's okay. And that I'm sorry. Again. It was difficult for her, every single time. And it killed me, each time.

To see her in tears was probably the most difficult thing I've been through in my life. She never saw me cry. She didn't have to.

She hugged me. It was quite tight. I held her and rubbed her back. I know it made me feel better when my grand ma or mother did that to me. And so I thought I'd do the same to her. She let go and kissed me. And I kissed back. She said, "Dear, make love to me again one last time...". I kissed her forehead and stood up with her in my arms.