It's been four years--
four years,
four
years...
And you'd think that by now,
I'd have gotten over it.
Well,
it seems like I haven't.
I mean,
I don't always
think about it,
but whenever December comes
waltzing
around the corner,
that familiar sense of longing,
that ebbing pain
resurfaces.
And I spend December
in regret
thinking
of bitter
"
what ifs".
What if ... I hadn't let him out of my sight?
What if ... he hadn't left me?
What if ... I had done this or that instead?
What if ... things had been done differently?
We'd still be
together,
that's what.
But
it's useless to try to
turn back time in my mind
because what's done
is done.
All I can do now
is hope and pray
that he'll come back...
that I can find him...
Because
believe me,
I've
looked.
For four years
I've
looked.
And sometimes,
I wonder
if he ever
looks back.
Looks back to that day
at Colon, near Jollibee, Leon Kilat;
or
looks back to that day
at the plaza under the Tambis tree;
or
looks back to that day
at the lake in the woods.
Because I do.
I look back...
and I
remember.
I remember
the intense gaze of his gray eyes.
I remember
his quick grin.
I remember
the way his hair would fall back against his forehead
after he'd brush it away with his fingers.
I remember
how protective
and kind
and generous
he was and
how good he was with kids.
I remember
his charismatic and adventurous spirit.
I remember
that day at the basketball court when
he was so brave when
Carlo threatened him.
I remember
how much he loved
spaghetti.
But...that's all there is
left of him.
Memories.
It's December again.
And I find myself singing
this song:
"So I go back to December,
turn around and make it alright;
I go back to December
all the time."
Come back,
Raphael.
I miss you.
-Nocturnal Scribe
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© Nocturnal Scribe, 2011
