Of late I realize something’s amiss. Sex may assuage the need for a day or two but the need for something or someone always redounds back. Maybe it’s the romantic love that I yearn for, the feeling of being committed to someone you love, the thought that a willing soul would show the world that you are worth his time and affection. I am single, and I’m not proud of it.
I remember the times when we’d do groceries on Sundays because those were mostly the time when the two of us were free. We’d cook food at home, watch Mariah on concert and you’d tell me Mimi’s the greatest artist there is while we cuddle through the night. I would oblige, eventually would buy her original concert DVDs and hum along with her songs. You are the cutest boyfie I’ve had, my first ever. Remember when our glances met at the bookstore in Pioneer? That was so high school episode that would Povedan girls to shame.
You know, I’ve told mom you were my ex. When I brought you home I introduced you as a friend was, on hindsight, a little awkward. We’d lock in the room. Do friends lock themselves inside a room at noon? Haha. When little brother saw your pictures at my notebook, he easily remembered you. He’s 6 now, moving up from kindergarten.
Hey. Your shirts are still with me. Your jacket still hangs in the closet. I was wronged when I’d send you booty calls when all I need was your love.
Sorry. I want you back, ata.
Btw, the ones I’ve went to bed with were just casual encounters. Read my stories and you’d know there wasn’t love in it.