All those nights of late talks, I’ve enjoyed talking to you and keeping our conversation going. Even if my eyes were drooping at 3AM and my work would start at 7AM, I paced back and forth my apartment just to keep myself awake. I wanted it to be you who would say ‘good night’ although the sun was about to rise up.

I didn’t mind you cutting through whatever I was doing. I’ve always wanted your name popping out of my notifications forcing a small smile up my cheeks that I’ve always contained.

I anticipated your attention. I felt important to you every time.

The way you kissed me in Republiq is still etched on my lips for as long as I can remember. It was rough but desperate, eager and longing.

You were careful about me by driving me home when we were drunk, just near my apartment and not close to its door, because you didn’t want us to do anything ‘stupid.’

Even though your machismo was overflowing, I knew you were a caring person.

I felt it whenever you talked about her and how you feel about her during our late-night conversations. That even if I was busy, I made time to listen to your anger and frustrations about your situation with her because I knew you needed someone to vent out to…

How you wanted to be with her, but she was taken at that time…

When something intimate, something more than a kiss, something ‘stupid’, happened between the two of you knowing it was forbidden…

How she made you feel loved, but you know it was not only you…

I wanted you to talk about me to other people, too. But it was her who’s on your mind…

It was not me you needed loving from. It was her…

It was not me you wanted to be with. It was her…

That even though I knew you never remembered we kissed because you were too drunk, and all you could speak about was getting close to her, I still wished you would cherish that moment the way I did.

You were desperate for her love. I was desperate to keep you whole.

I listened and looked after you while you were loving her. While you were loving her, I was loving you.

 

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