The Saddest Lines Indeed

We broke up today. Early morning, first thing we did when we woke up. I should've seen it coming. I should've trusted my instincts. I should've asked the questions lingering in my mind, because they were important questions. It doesn't even matter anymore who ended it. Well, he did. But it doesn't matter, not to us, we know better than that. He said I deserved more. I already knew that, long ago. And I wanted to tell him then, but I couldn't find the moment. I know I deserve more, but I simply thought I deserved more of him, not more than him. I loved the guy. I still do. He's a good person, albeit with a lot of faults. I thought I could help him go through with it, help him fix himself and be better because of his mistakes. I realize I shouldn't have played Messiah. I can't go on saving someone who doesn't want to be saved. I love him. Nothing hurts more. He was my first. My ultimate first, in many aspects. First love. First kiss. First real time I let my defenses down. First time I let someone in. First time I cried so hard I couldn't breathe. First heartbreak. Strangely enough, I feel okay. I don't know why exactly. We talked for two hours about this, and I was bawling my eyes out, but in the end we were laughing. We're friends, after all. I just wish we could've been friends for much longer, and grown together in that way, too. Maybe it was inevitable. Maybe it was meant to be. Maybe I could have spared myself the pain if I had been more truthful with myself, if I had not led myself on to believe that it would work out despite everything that told me it would not. My friend told me the other night, "Tapusin mo na yan. Okay na, nakatikim ka na, tama na muna." I said to him, "Eh pano yun, mahal ko siya eh." Now I know loving someone does not make things right. It's true what they say, sometimes love isn't enough. If he calls me, I probably won't turn him away. If he texts, I'd probably reply. Because I don't want to go through with this with hatred in my heart. The five months we shared were the best, and maybe the worst, too. Either way, I will treasure those times, because in those months that we had, and in the year we had known each other, I learned how to love. I learned how to love unconditionally. I learned how to hurt, and how to forgive. Things are not going to be the same. every day, every time I pass by the building where we had spent our summer, every cab ride I take, every shop and restaurant I would go to, I will remember; it is something I will take with me forever. I don't want to look back and cry. I know I will from time to time, but the time will come when I will look back and smile. I want that time to start soon. Paulo Coelho was right when he said "when you want something, all the universe conspires to help you achieve it." Whoever said it was right we he/she said that "anything less than mad, passionate extraordinary love is a waste of time. There are too many mediocre things in life to deal with, and love shouldn't be one of them." Coelho might also be right when he said that there are signs. And that we should follow them. But my friend was right, too, when she said we choose the signs that we follow. I guess I just made the wrong choices. Over and over again. He was right when he said we simply have to want it. But he should've said that to himself, too. It's difficult when only one of two people wants it, and is led to believe that that feeling is being reciprocated. I realize I am not a shepherd looking out for my sheep. I can't forever guide other people to where they want or should be going. He's probably right, he doesn't deserve me. Because I have been one hell of a good girlfriend, I know this much. He knows it, too. I guess it's a good thing that he ended it, rather than me. I'm not really good at letting go. I always hang on to the possibility that things will work out, that we would go through it together, that no matter how loose the thread, the thread exists, and it's worth holding on to. He said that, by the way, going through it together. He said we would endure, that it would be forever. Obviously, I can't say that now. The five months we shared are over. But he will always be my honey, forever. Don't get me wrong, I'm not pining, nor have I false hopes. But he is that, my honey, just as I am his. Oh well. I never wrote a poem about him, ever. I was sort of sad before when I couldn't do it, write a poem I mean. I said to myself, maybe when you're really happy, you just can't articulate it. I don't know. Today's a bit different, though. And tonight, well, as Pablo Neruda said, tonight I can write the saddest lines.