Eight Months and Counting.
As I sat on your bed, using your laptop to type this, you were all over the room cleaning it. You sorted through your credit card, phone, and Internet bills. You dug into the pile, looking for anything of importance that can be salvaged or used for future reference. You took a peek at me, and I told you not to read what I’m typing. You will be able to read this later anyway, and you have said so yourself.
You crossed to the end of the room wearing my two-and-a-half inch high Havaianas, then left it on that side of the room. You wore each of your three pairs of Havaianas one after the other, then walked to the other side of the room. You made sure to carefully step on the rug to clean each slippers’ underside. You finished sorting out your Havaianas, and then you sat beside me. Again, I told you to please not read what I’m typing. You blurted a sigh of incredulity, and walked away. You went out the room, and after a few seconds, you were back.
This time, you tried to surprise me, as you know I am very easily surprised. (Haha.) You smiled a huge smile when I just looked at you and told you, again, to please not read what I’m typing. You went out the room again, and came back after a few minutes, a new rug in hand. You cleaned your books and wiped the top of your bookshelves. You dropped a thick book that landed with a bang on the floor, and cursed yourself for it. Oh, btw, you succeeded in surprising me by shouting something unintelligible. Haha.
Sigh. A sad moment then occurred. You dropped another book. The book’s pages laid open and a dozen printed-out photos of you and your most recent ex-girlfriend came flying out of the pages. You tried to hide them from me, but I already saw them. I asked if I could please see them. You reluctantly agreed, though not after you told me that it won’t be a good idea. As I sorted through them, I felt something I can’t explain—not jealousy or anger, it was something else, something close to helplessness. I brushed it away, and even managed to ask you a few questions: why do you still have these? (She returned them to me), did you have these printed out? (She did, I will never do that), but why did she return them to you if she was the one who had it printed out? (Yeah, I know, confusing right?). Yes, it was indeed confusing. After I have seen each photo and arranged them in a proper pile, you grabbed them from me. I couldn’t explain the look on your face: was it sympathy or confusion, or was it a smirk? I asked what you were going to do with the photos, you just said you’ll throw them away. You then went out the room.
You went back the room, this time with a big black trash bag in your hand. You sorted through your empty perfume bottles, native necklaces and bracelets, and other trivial stuff. You asked me what to do with each, I told you to just give them away. You threw them all in the trash bag, sparing nothing. I believe those bracelets and necklaces matched those of your most recent ex-girlfriend. Like you, she must have thrown them away already.
Big black trash bag already filled with empty bottles, empty shoe boxes, and unwanted necklaces and bracelets, you made your way to the door. You just threw your tangible memories away.
Once again, you were back in the room. You told me you were done cleaning up, and sat beside me on the bed. Again, I told you that I am still not done typing so please do not read it yet. You say that you can’t possibly read everything in a glance, but you saw a line that started with ‘Sigh. A sad moment..’. You asked me about it, your eyes playful yet scared, but I just told you to read the whole thing later.
You then sat on the floor beside the bed, playing Patapon, our new favorite game, on your PSP. I knew you were waiting for me to finish what I was typing so you can cuddle up beside me. I sensed your impatience as you shifted positions and glanced at me after every few minutes. I bent over to kiss you on the cheek.
You are just adorable.
Happy monthsary, hon. I love you.
