Along the Wire

Hey.

You used to call them surprise E-Mails from a crazy Malay boy. Not really "surprise", since they were regular happenings, and not really Malay. The rest is accurate, more or less. Haven't sent one in a bit, and three lines into this, I realize I won't exactly send this, either. Not even sure if you'll read this one way or another.

Long time ago, we talked about bumping into each other suddenly, out of nowhere, and how glad we were to realize that it didn't have to be a rarity. Soon enough, you got me skipping classes to watch the clouds pass and the waves roll, and pretty quickly that became something just the two of us did together. Evening walks and watching the lights shimmer across the water on the pool, our little secret.

You said you couldn't promise anything, but that was alright. You know I never demanded anything at all, and I don't now. But you did promise so, so much. Just by letting me in, sharing and giving so much of yourself. Racking up two-hundred dollar phone-bills, naturally having me elect not to spend birthdays (including my own) with family and other friends, that one glorious night where you came over, taking me totally by surprise, and we took another slow walk to nowhere.

A walk to nowhere, that's what it is now, you know? Maybe that's what it always was to you, but I was too blind to see it. I hope it wasn't , because to me you were the biggest and best part of me.

Was.

I keep telling myself that the tense is right, that I shouldn't be beating myself up over something that I obviously can't change or affect, and some of the little things I've done recently have helped somewhat. Now your name doesn't jump out at me automatically the minute I come online. Yet I still scroll to see if you're there. And wonder. You were the one whose name dominated my in- and outbox for the longest time. The one who called spending hours on the phone every night "SOP". The one with all the flowers. The one'd slip notes into my bag or wallet, or cleverly disguise real-life conversations relayed on your blog. The thing that almost kept me from accepting my job, fearing I couldn't spend enough time with you. The one I grew out my hair for, the one I quit swearing and speeding for.

So what now, or does that not even matter? We promised each other a long time ago that no matter what happened, things would be alright. You made me promise not to forget you, and I haven't and probably never will, though I can't remember the last time we had a decent conversation now.

Did I do something, say something wrong? You said you gave me that chance, the chance I begged for, yet that's something I can't believe. You said there was a time you looked at us and seriously thought about it, and while I do believe that, I'm not sure how long you looked, how seriously you took me. Big part of me hates that I waited, that I stuck with certain principles, wondering what might have been. Perhaps it wouldn't have changed anything, but now I'll never know.

I'll always remember, like I said. That pile of tickets speak of last-minute and overpriced adventures, rainy days with birds nibbling jeans, deja vu animal trips, electric skies on a little island, mind-blowing movies, awesome geek-fests, and more. I remember you sneakily getting a friend to ask me what was up, waiting the hours while you had to attend to your family, driving back with you and others, hoping they'd not ask the obvious, bumping into mutual friends, when you freaked and thought he found out, discovering that we might have known each other all our lives since a shared holiday when we were kids. And for a time, it felt like we did. Still there were the days and nights we'd go to such lengths to gaze at the stars (and Mars), singing stupidly in the car, hunting and ambushing oblivious siblings, exchanging surprise birthday books, watching kites fly, and that time I held you in my arms, when you seemed to happy, sitting on top of that dusty dam.

I don't regret all that. I was happier then than I've been in a long, long time. I only hope I made you happy too.

And wonder what happened to that.

Naz