Why do I always have to end the beautiful stories the sad way?
As we passed through the same street, I saw you smiling. Perhaps it was not at my sight. Perhaps you hadn’t even seen me. Yet little did you know I smiled too. I smiled at the irony of our interactions. The “interactions” in which we never “interact”. The world has never heard your name from my mouth. Your name sits differently on my tongue. And when I do end up saying it, it comes out in careful whispers as if I’m revealing a long kept secret.
We live as if we know a secret that no one else knows. Even on rare occasion when I was asked about you, I did not know what to say. I whispered another name instead of yours yet deep down I could only sigh. How could this be explained. But for the most part, this remains unacknowledged. No one takes your name with mine and we remain as unrecognized and as unacknowledged as two fading stars in the sky that can only be seen when you focus your eyes on them for long enough.
I don’t dare look at you even when you’re right in front of me nor I dare say your name. It’s as if I’m ashamed. I don’t dare say your name out of embarrassment. A kind of embarrassment that makes me wonder if I deserve to even say your name. On most days I’m embarrassed of my own existence. On most days, I don’t say your name in fear that this world with either laugh at me or pity me for this fool’s hope. It seems as if even considering that I could be worthy of your love is a forbidden fruit. It’s as if I’m telling my heart each day, “Lightly child, don’t be a fool enough to think you are worthy of being loved.” It seems as if I’m always apologizing.