Dreaming of death
There we were, standing by the roadside waiting for your cab ride. It was clear that you loathe my presence that night: I see your eyes looking afar, your mind wandering everywhere but that place.
I repeatedly asked you if my presence bothers you; you only shrugged. But I have known you for three years, and your eyes betray your true feelings at that moment.
I could tell that that that was the longest night of your life. I saw you sigh with relief as the cab slowly pulled over by our side. I could equally feel your relief that I did not insist on taking you home, as that would mean suffering for several more minutes with my presence.
This is my punishment, I later told myself – my punishment for insisting to maintain ties with you.
How long did you break up with me? It was six months ago, yet the memories (not to mention the wounds and the hurts) remain fresh and vivid like it was just yesterday.
When I was still younger, I believed in fairy tales so much that I dream of having my own fairy tale. That dream came true when I met you three years ago. A fairy tale that I wished to end happily ever after.
Yet I know that fairy tales exist only in books and dreams. As we grow older, we understand that life is not a fairy tale. To our dismay, love and life are more complicated than how children’s books present them to be. I belatedly realized later in life that there exist such concepts as unrequited love, broken hearts, and broken promises.
Alas, the grand conspiracy has been unraveled. We were dead before we know it.
That night was the longest night of my life. As your cab sped away, I noticed you left something behind. As I walked towards it, dread overshadowed me. There, I saw my heart, bleeding.
I was dead.
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