The hardest part about being away is the last trip home before another lengthy and sad trip for work. You’re haunted with questions of what might have not been said, or what might not have been done. It’s at this time where you regret that you didn’t hold him enough times or kiss him enough or told him how much you loved him at those times you could have. You go back to every laugh. You go back to every conversation. You go back to every hug. You go back to every touch. You go back to every kiss. You go back to everything, and wish that you could do it all over again, twice as much. Even thrice as much. You curse the day for having only 24 hours, the weekend for having only two days. You ask yourself over and over if you could have done better, better than the best. You look back at your planned surprises, moments you’ve replayed over and over again in your head that have never seen fruition. You think back to those accidental, serendipitous moments you never expected to happen but left you wanting more and more and more time with the one you love because a weekend never really is enough. Time is such a shitty concept, and thinking too much about it, of how you can make it worthwhile is ironic as it robs you of those much needed time. At the end of the day, however, nothing matters more than the thought that you were with the one you love most, and that you were home. ❤
I lay there, ruffling through the curtains, trying to sleep. I notice, from the little space provided from the parting of my curtain, a bright light illuminating the clouds that have beautifully enveloped the night sky. I pull the curtain away and see the light in its full glory. I lay there, silently staring, thinking, the moon must be mocking me because I cannot sleep. I continue staring at it. I marvel how the clouds immediately surrounding it has turned dark, dark, darker, almost black. How could that be? Is this an effect of the moon’s bright shine? An illusion brought about by light? Or is it just really the spaces of the night sky where the clouds converge. A car passes, its yellow lights shining the shadows in my room. Radiohead plays in my ears. I close my eyes and I try to sleep. The song changes. I open my eyes and look up. The moon is still there, shining brightly and still surrounded with those perfectly sculpted clouds. And it’s still mocking me.
Isn’t it funny that we dream of these stories– these could’ve been’s, would’ve been’s, should be’s –and when the time comes, fate screws it over and you curse and you scream at it because that’s not what you planned, not what you thought of. But that’s just life, ain’t it? It sounds so mediocre and so used up– reasoning that everything happens for a reason or that it’s life. It’s just life, c’est la vie, but it’s what we cling to still. I don’t know why. I don’t know why we keep on doing this when we know what the outcome is. Do we even think that somehow, someday it would turn out to be different? That somewhow fate will play alongside us and not against us? Maybe, maybe it’s not our beliefs at all that’s holding us together. Maybe it’s hope. It’s hope. That never undying flame of hope. Maybe that’s what it is. Look, I just wanted a perfect night with you where the stars all aligned and everything just fell into place. Just one night.
— Forgotten Journal Entries, 2013