Camera Obscura

It could have been the same as with others save for the fact we are friends.
But now that its all over
Why can't I feel anything at all?

I wish to think it was just an ordinary bootie call. I tried my best to believe it was, to save myself from the attachment that will come after. But how do you figure out a story, which started with a kiss over half a year ago, and despite your bold attempts to write him off, he keeps returning and checking out what happens to your life.

---

How do you ignore the way he took care of you that night, making sure it was not only him who's having fun but instead asked how you felt along the ride. "Tell me if it hurts, and I'll take it slow" he says. "It feels fucking good," you insist, even if it would take a week before the wound it rips completely heals. His hard pounding doesn't matter, your agony is already replaced by the ecstasy of his lips forcing its way to your tongue.

Beyond lust, you know he cares. He just don't know how to figure out the feelings.

so for you not to read it the way
you desire his attachment to be.

The denial goes on. He would check on you from time to time. You would check him when you're not busy. He would ask if your mom is okay, you would ask how his business is doing. He would wonder when you would go out, you would deliberately tell you're busy. You talk both about working out but you're tongue tied the moment he speaks about Tennis.

It's hard to keep one's pride in the face of an imminent capitulation. You can't deny the soft spot he enjoys because you have already lost the first night you laid your eyes on him.

---

How can't you remember.

How could you not miss.

When out of the blue, he would still text.

"Gud am pare. D2 kami intramuros wid tropa. Nag tour kami. Hehehe."

It might have meant nothing,

yeah it does.

after all, you still feel three days after it all happened.

On the night I left his place, the cab I boarded speeds across McKinley while love songs play on the radio. What a coincidence! The last time I passed by that road, I was humming love songs. Looking outside the glass window, the streets were empty save for the blinking Christmas lights draping the huge Acacia Trees within the walled homes. The love song pierces. You try not to feel anything just to show it doesn't hurt this time. But just when you have found acceptance to your ending,

a page in your book reveals an epilogue:

"Ingat k pre."

I was told the top never cares after his needs have been satisfied.

But why?