I still remember that day in orchestra.
Christmas seemed to hang in the air around us, people laughing too loudly, the whole room wrapped in that end-of-year glow. We kept stealing glances at each other like we were getting away with something. Every accidental touch felt charged. Every time our eyes met, it was as if the air shifted around us.
I remember thinking, very quietly,
there you are.
And somehow after that, there was always a you.
You became part of the shape of my days.
Remember when we wandered after the orchestra rushing around Cubao like two fools who forgot time existed?
You asking if there were still jeeps, still buses, still some way home.
We kept checking the clock and then forgetting to care.
Back then, the night felt endless. Like morning was something happening to other people.
Funny.
Because now I wake up and morning arrives anyway.
The sun still comes through the window.
The world still moves.
People still cross the street, classes still start, tea still gets cold.
But there is this strange empty place where you used to be.
I reach for the shape of a routine that no longer exists.
The good morning messages.
The stories I would've told you.
The instinct to turn toward you before remembering there is nowhere to turn.
It's like someone took a piece out of a puzzle and carried it away.
The picture is still there.
Life is still there.
But I can see the outline of what is missing.
I won't lie to you.
It shattered something in me when you said it felt heavier being with me than being by yourself.
Not because you were cruel.
You weren't.
But because I loved you enough to know how hard that must have been to say.
And because there was a version of me that wanted so badly to be a home for you.
To hear that I had become a weight instead of a shelter hurt in ways I still don't have words for.
Do you remember how we used to describe this relationship?
Like hopping onto a train together.
No promises.
No forever.
Just two people choosing the same journey.
And when it stopped feeling right, we'd get off at the nearest station.
I think we're starting to see that station now.
The train is slowing.
The scenery outside is changing.
People are gathering their things.
And there is this unbearable silence between knowing you're still beside me and knowing you won't be for much longer.
It's strange how you can spend so long traveling with someone that they become part of the landscape.
Then suddenly you're looking at them one last time, trying to memorize their face before the doors open.
I wish I could tell you there was something beautiful to say at moments like these.
There isn't.
There is only goodbye.
Soft and trembling and human.
But even now, I find myself wishing good things for you.
I hope after college you become everything you've dreamed of becoming.
I hope freedom finds you.
I hope your life grows larger than your fears.
I hope one day you wake up excited for the future waiting for you.
And more than anything, I hope you find someone who understands the language your heart speaks.
Someone who won't leave you translating yourself.
Someone who can give you the things I couldn't.
I don't think we failed each other.
I think we loved each other with what we knew.
And sometimes love is not a bridge.
Sometimes it's just a meeting place.
A temporary place.
A place you are grateful existed at all.
Letting you go does not mean I loved you any less.
If anything, it means I loved you enough to stop asking you to stay somewhere your heart no longer wanted to live.
I think that's what love becomes sometimes.
Not holding on.
Not winning.
Just opening your hands.
I want you to know something.
I have never regretted loving you, Cali(el) Jabez Cortez.
Not once.
Not on the happiest days.
Not on the days that broke me.
Not even now.
Everything I ever told you was true.
You know that.
You know I never spoke lightly when it came to love.
Every "I love you."
Every dream.
Every prayer.
I meant all of it.
And I still do.
Maybe that's the bittersweet thing.
You are leaving this love while I am still standing inside it.
But don't worry.
I'll be okay.
It will hurt.
God, it will hurt.
But I will carry it.
I will survive the quiet.
I will survive the missing.
I will survive learning how to exist in a world where you are no longer mine to call.
And one day this ache will become gratitude.
A story I tell myself gently.
A star I can still see long after its light has left.
As my last act of love, know that you remain in my prayers.
Every night I negotiate with heaven on your behalf.
Not because I think prayer can change what is happening between us.
I just find myself hoping life will be kind to you.
That you'll be safe.
That you'll be happy.
That you'll become the person you've always wanted to be.
Those are no longer things I get to be part of, but they're still things I wish for.
Farewell, love.
Thank you for sharing this part of your life with me.
Thank you for every laugh, every late night, every ordinary moment that became extraordinary because you were there.
You were one of the greatest joys of my life.
Maybe, in some quiet way, you always will be.
I will always be rooting for yours.
Amor fati.
Alon