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Regrets

Demi Chu
Demi Chu n. Graphophile; Believer of the Tiny White Host
almost 2 years Philippines Story
Regrets



I like my regrets to be served in the morning; when my tongue tastes like the lies I had last night and my eyelids are burdened by the weight of mascara. I like them on broken plates and cold coffees where it brings out one bitter memory after another. How refreshing to be in a setting where the silence comforts yet puts me into tears. The clouds don’t even cover the sun – there, in all its glory, the bright ray taunts me… as if to tell me “Yes, you are the only one who is fucked.”


I like my regrets to be a walking perfection; the kind that sinks its way through inches of ice after ice that housed my heart. I wanted to ask him, was it cold? Were you even aware? That the slightest motion of your lips as you laugh and the lovely way you threw your head back – you generated loud thumps in my chest. The angels, they didn’t sing but instead, sighed at my expense. I can hear them clucking their tongues as I am far too gone – one foot out as if to test the waters, and all too suddenly being dragged deeper as your eyes held mine. I felt myself ask again and again, “Does he know? Does he know?” About that time I stared a little too long or the letters I left somewhere in a drawer. I should never have fallen for you. But we love what we cannot get. We crave for what we cannot have. Maybe because these are the times we feel the most human – with our imperfections seeping through emotions we cannot handle.


I like my regrets to be dressed as me. The blue skirt, a glittering paradox of what I feel. It catches the neon signs I badly want to steal, if only it could afford me an ounce of happiness even for an hour. But my heart, it is a lightweight for as long as the time I spent with you. Your glasses, it reflected the lights and the hope in my eyes. This time there was only you and I. I laughed at your jokes. I listened to your stories. And at the end of the night, I cried for the love I can never have. So I tore a piece of paper at 4 in the morning and wrote about the beauty of you and the beast that was my heart. I was a traitor masked as your friend. All the time you trusted me was all the time I spent loving you.  Right at the very moment when my ink blessed the pages of my journal was the moment I knew about the heart that would take a long time to heal and the brain that would take a long time to forget.


I like my regrets disguised as wrong timings. If I knew you first would it have been a different story? Would I have been the one you call at different hours of the day just because? Would I have been the person to wear your name as a chain on my wrist? Or better yet, the person to wear your last name sealed with a kiss while you uncovered that white veil? But I know time cannot take the blame. Time cannot decide about the sparks that flew or the love you feel. And time can neither tell you about right persons and right places. Because time is just time; it ceases to exist when love comes into picture. You don’t know when you loved – you just know you did. And I don’t know when I’ll forget and I can’t tell you that I did.


I like my regrets to be hopeful musings – the kind that do not come true. I remembered a tear stained my left cheek… and you were there to call me brave. But you never called me your love. So I swiped away the hurt that escaped from my eye because promises were not our language. You were wrong. I was a coward. I took the chance that I can be with you because those were the times you can’t be with her. And this was not me; I don’t like begging for love – no matter how much I longed for yours. So, this time I do not rely on wishful thinking but instead, built a wall between where you and I used to stand. While I put block upon block on top of each other I saw a glimpse of your face, and for the last time I wished you were mine as I was yours. And as I closed myself from the rest of your magic, I brewed some coffee to keep me awake as I prayed for your happiness and my contentment; I realized I do not need to be loved by the person I love. My coffee was left untouched for hours as the wheels continued to turn in my mind. But finally, I sipped the drink that turned cold. And that was when I liked it best. Because that was when I knew – that regrets would be washed up by the shore of graces; that love was powerful no matter where it came from.


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Demi Chu
n. Graphophile; Believer of the Tiny White Host

Working for that 98¾ guarantee. Instagram: @demicchu

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