To The One That Got Away
If there was one song that could explain how I felt about you, it would probably be Katy Perry's "The One That Got Away." It was the summer after high school when we met. And little did I know that you would have this effect over me. Our so-called friendship started over Facebook chat that summer of 2012. I was desperately coming to terms with someone who had left me hanging in the midst of our blossoming relationship. And here you were being a complete gentleman to a stranger. That stranger was me.
I thought that it was just a one-time, big-time encounter, but you proved me wrong. We traded numbers and days later, every message in my inbox was from you. From a simple exchange of hellos, we got to know each other better. I don't know if it makes sense to say thank you for this, but I want you to know that I appreciated everything that we went through. Though I must admit there were times I had doubts about why you were being extremely nice to me, I still think of only good things when I remember you.
The way you looked back at me just to grab my hand when we were about to cross the street was as splendid as the sundae and the large fries we shared on that same afternoon. I never told you how those simple gestures made me feel special. Just like whenever you put your arms around me when we would share an umbrella, or worry about my childish blues, and your simple messages of good mornings and evenings.
Every time you sense that I was in a bad place, or the way you'd ask me about my enlisted subjects, or how you'd want to be in one of my classes, or how you love making me feel guilty when I don't text back made me feel cherished. I would always think of your replies to my tweets, your out-of-the-blue messages, and your sad stories, signs of you missing me.
I might not be vocal about the things I'd really like to tell you or share the stories you'd love to hear. You probably will never know just how worried I get when you tell me you haven't had lunch or dinner, how mad I get for not just going where you are to check up on you and eat with you.
The way you watch me yawn, your manner of subtly telling me to eat more when you felt I lost weight after you last nudged my arm, our silent giggles in the dead of night. Yes, these are all the tiny details I remember, down to the dates of the days when we're together.
I still don't know if they're all worth thanking you for. Those moments you made me feel appreciated, cherished, special, treasured, and even stupid, disheartened, clumsy, guilty–and for being beside me during all those times. For all my unguarded moments, the ones that make me wonder how you see me through your eyes. For all those instances I made you wait for me, the plans and promises we built together but never had the pleasure of coming true. All these messages sitting in my inbox have become painful to think about.
The way you made me feel special slowly consumed me. I started to lie to protect myself, because I knew the reality. You're still with her and we hardly remained friends. Maybe in another life, I can be your girl and I'll be the one to make you stay. Maybe we'll live up to those promises and maybe you won't be the one that got away.