I thought I could get over you.

But here I am, watching the movies you like, reading the books you love. I look for you in every photo, I long for your voice as if it was the only sound left on earth. I recognize you even from miles away, for your idiosyncratic scent and gait shift reality into a new dimension.

I shiver when your voice echoes from the back of the room, but always die to hear more. Please, tell me about the girls you've met, tell me about places you've been. Tell me about your regrets, tell me about what has broken you and left you in pieces. Tell me anything, just anything.

I'm in rapture every time your contact name flashes up on the screen, then have my head in the clouds hours after you reply. You can highlight my day or flip it all over like a hurricane with a single sentence. Everything I do, everything I say, I always think about your reaction first, and whether or not it complies with your virtue. I cling onto your validation as if it was the only scale that can justify my morality.

Still, I have to look away every time you smile, because if I don't, my eyes would be on you forever, from time to time, day to day, people come then go and they don't make a sound, for my ears no longer receive any melody nor my eyes search for any miracle. Cliché, some might say. But lovers are just the same. They fall in love and write poems, sometimes hum a happy tune and dance on the tabletops.

That's why everyday, as soon as I I wake up, I have to remind myself to forget all about you, to accept and learn to get over you. 

But when I listen to those sad, smitten songs I think of you. When I come across some wise quotes or book titles, your words come flooding back, bringing along the memories I'm trying to bury, as well as the nausea and anxiety that are awaiting in my stomach whenever we talk because I'm scared. Because I'm not good enough for you, because I'm too slow and can't catch up with your words and jokes, because I react wrongly which could turn you down, because how I reply can bore you to death. Because I'm scared you will leave me behind, and I'm scared of the thought even though it has yet to happen. 

But one day, soon enough, it will.

You will meet someone, talk to them and enjoy the time you have with them. And until then, all I can do is look at you from behind, wishing you could save that last bit of caress for me. Until then, the image of me in you will fade away like a breeze on summer days, and the memory of us together will be crumbled beneath your feet. We move on, that's how life is. We're just friends, he's just a kid. I'm just a kid. We don't know better. 

Don't get too attached, they say, just enjoy the fun while it lasts. We're just friends, there's nothing serious. But maybe you're in me too deeply and I try to refuse that every single day.

I watch the movie you like, read the books you love, copy your posture, adopt your fashion sense. You're always right, what you say always makes sense. Just the tiniest bit of affection from you and I'm happy all day, the gesture carved into my brain till next dawn. Just the slightest bit of annoyance from you and here I am, all tearing up over a scenery in my head.

But did you know I cried my eyes out just an hour before we called? Did you know I stayed up until 2am to finish the book you recommended? Do you know that I want to throw up every time our conversation ends because I'm afraid I messed things up and turn our relationship into a dead-end road? Did you know that tears raced down my face in prom night because I waited for you and you didn't come, that I shakily check your profile everyday just to get a sense that you're still here? Do you know that? Or do you even care?

I always go over things I'm about to say a million times, just to wait for eternity while my heart drums so fast that I thought I could pass out in any second. It feels like dying. I couldn't catch up with your accent at first but tried not to miss a single word. I hold my breath when you call some names, wishing it was mine. I remember everything you say, even the smallest, the tiniest bits that you forget as soon as it slips out from the tip of your tongue. They say you give me hopes, but it's me who gives me hopes, who allows me to daydream that there is a chance you can be mine, who whispers into my ears that you're looking at me, you're talking to me. But it's always someone else.

You're so special to me and I wish you could hold my gaze forever, but you leave me breathless, clueless, you leave me haunted, exhausted. Is it because I tend to look down on me or I've been worshipping you? Is it because you are too good or I'm unworthy of such a good person? 

I can't have you, that's one thing for sure. But I can lose you, that is not fair. It's not fair, I thought. But then again, who am I to judge? Do I even have the right to? It's your choice in the end anyway. And your choice has never been me. 

But if given a thousand chances, my choice for all of them would be you.