I still remember you. 

Does that come as a surprise? 

I remember the last time I saw you, dropping me off at the station, you laughed and said, “Don’t worry, I won’t break up with you”. A month later we broke up because you cheated on me with someone else. 

Oh, and you. I remember how I stared at you across the table and watched you cry as I told you that maybe I was looking for something else, that I can’t spend my life being just your beloved. 

And then there was you, the one I had the hardest time saying goodbye to. I remember how I traced my hand across your face one last time, trying to memorise every tiny detail so it is etched inside my head. 


I have often wondered where you all are, what you are up to. I wonder where life took you after that night at the cafe, the station, the road. Sometimes you text me out of the blue and ask me how I am, and we talk for a while before we head back to our lives again. Sometimes I call you, or you call me. Sometimes I  hear from common friends about your whereabouts.

I cross the places we had been to together. I pass that cafe on that road and I think about how you loved the way I laugh, I cross the road where we walked on for hours before your parents refused to let you in because you were so piss drunk that night, I cross the bookstore where we used to discover each other as we got lost in the countless aisles. I think about how we stole kisses when no one was watching. 


And I think about where we were, and where we are now. How different things are from what we once planned for ourselves. 

I think about what could have been, if only…

If only. If only I didn’t realise that you had to go.


I slowly remember all the other things: the fights, the screaming, the shouting, the tears. I remember the nights I spent begging you not to leave, and the time I was crying my eyes out and you still ranted on only because it was so important for you to make your point. And then I remember why you leaving me, or me leaving you was probably the best thing to happen for me. 


Because that is when I learned to choose me over you. Even if it took me some time, I did it. When you walked out on me and I didn’t chase you, I chose me; when I said what was on my mind and not what you wanted to hear, I chose me; when I stood up for my happiness and dignity, I chose me. 

I learned to not ask you to save me, I learned to save myself. I learned to ask for my space when I needed it. I learned how to never revolve my life around a sun that wanders beyond my orbit. 


And I also learned to let go, to love from afar, to hurt and move on. 

I learned to love myself more. 

All our lives, we laugh, we flirt, we fall in love, we get hurt, we move on. But hopefully, we learn too. Out of the many experiences I have lived in my life, I experienced you. And I thank you for letting me do that. Because not only did I learn so much about you, I learned so much about myself. 

You taught me what I wanted in life, and more importantly, what I didn’t. 


There is no denying that even when you are gone, you are still going to always be a part of my story. If not in grudges, then in good memories. And if not in good memories, then lessons.

And there is no denying that wherever you are, I will always remember you. And even if I don’t carry you in my heart, or the wounds you gave me on my soul, I will always carry what you taught me: that some people come only to leave, and that might be the best thing to happen to you. 

Because someone better might come along, and when they do, you’ll know why it never worked out with them.