I still read our old messages. The first time I ever messaged you, getting a reply two hours later. I was ecstatic. Even though your reply was just a simple "like" sign on our Facebook chat, it brought a great amount of happiness to my heart. We had small conversations. I, always being the wordy one, and you, responding with your short, amusing statements. It was never too much, but it was always enough.
And whenever we were at school, I loved how passionate you were about music. I would watch you, intently, every single day. My excitement could never be explained whenever the teacher's not around anymore, because I knew, it was finally time for our good old jamming sessions. Even if we had the same kind of playlist for our daily leisure, it never failed to draw that particular upward curve on my lips.
You were beautiful. The way your fingers made their way to the guitar, strumming, and changing chords every second. The way your eyes closed whenever you hit a note or when they look down on your own fingers, probably checking out how good they were at handling my favorite instrument to see with you. And mostly, the way you looked over to me, with your bright yet dark eyes, even if you didn't intend to. Imaginary butterflies in my stomach would immediately start fluttering the very moment your eyes would meet mine.
And just before you make judgments if you ever end up reading this, let me tell you this. I know, fully, that you have already rejected my love. It's now a love that's unrequited. No matter how much you make me feel as if you feel the same way, I know that whenever I ask you, I will always get the same answer. I don't know whether I expected too much, or you gave too less. But even if I find the best way to get over my feelings, I know, that my heart will always end up finding a way back to you.
Those butterflies I was talking about, no matter how much you make them feel alive deep within in me, I know that they will always end up dying. The fire that you ignite will be doused by your own hands. And I understand why, I do. You said you were afraid, didn't you? I know that you are. I know how you feel. That's why you kill the butterflies that come out of me, because you're afraid they'll bury you down with their own wings. And that is also why you kept on extinguishing my flames, burning with passion, because you're afraid, that soon enough, you'll be the one burning in its own furnace.
But don't worry, it's not as if I am complaining. It's normal, not getting things in return. And now, I'll just have to bring the greatest punishment I can ever bring to myself. And that is to give up telling you how much you make my heart swell. To just keep quiet, even if my heart is screaming deep inside.
But if ever you start to feel a little bit of something for me, don't be afraid to let me know. Because I'll always be here, waiting. I know that even if time passes me by and a lot of people walked past me, I will always have a piece of my heart attached to you. And if you really don't feel anything for me, it's fine. Because I know, I'm aware. You will always be my "too much" and I, your "too less."
Written by Samantha Margaux Manalo.