Do you still think about him?”
“Yeah.” I whispered. “All the time. But it’s worse in between moments when I have nothing to do, and I’ll remember all I did these past years was give him more than the extra time I had, you know. Time gives so much value on a person even when it’s wasted.”
He paused for a moment. With a deep sigh, he told me, “Does it still hurt?”
I closed my eyes briefly; he waited patiently before I could muster a lie. But these days it has just been so tiring to trick the people around me. And myself.
So I told the truth.
I nodded. “It always will.
I’ll come back for you.“ I whispered to myself. I was expecting he’d be standing there with his hand in his pocket, the lamp post striking his features that I have memorized to see even in the dark. He’d be waiting for me to look back so we can catch each other’s glance across the distance I’ve made. But when I did, I exhaled the cold night’s air, and stopped in my tracks. The lamp post stood tall, its orange light scattered on the pavement. He was gone. He already left. It was already late. I remained frozen in the middle of the street because nobody was there anyway, not anymore.