To M.,

By the time you read this, I had been fixed in one of the stools at *insert fast food chain’s name* for the past three hours.

By that time, I had already written this post while ironically basking in the sorrow of a repeated heartbreak song. Could you imagine? And by the time you continue to read this, I had hoped that you would listen as if I was speaking to you in flesh. I didn’t know if that time would ever come but I wished it would.

It was hard. It’s crazy. Did you know I was having a difficult time erasing the remaining thoughts I once kept on holding onto? You probably had no idea. And I thought maybe it should stay that way. Who was I kidding anyway.. I had spent three hours killing time and reflecting on the good things that happened in the past few days before this very moment. I was slowly but surely escaping the dungeon I put myself into. I knew how pathetic I had been over something, no, someone, who didn’t even know I was existing. Those sticky notes you found at your desk in the morning? I secretly put those although you probably wouldn’t suspect it was me.

I was not sure if, by chance, you would know. Still I wanted to. Maybe by the time you were reading this, I had already moved on from your intoxicating charm and intense but brief gazes. Pathetic, right? Who would move on from someone whom you hadn’t been with?

I had wanted to let you know that I was tired. I was tired of waiting for something that would never come.

I was tired of pushing and hoping and thinking and wondering.

By the time you we’re fixed on reading this, I was hoping that the day I could completely appreciate life without you had arrived.

Well, I was hoping by then that you were reading this.

P. S. Pardon the grammar.



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