Hopia (First Part)

Previously: Deux Ex Machina

He would always hide that part of his skin to keep his scars from being seen. I would insist and say, "show it off, it's okay," which he would reciprocate with a smile, and sometimes a tender kiss, when we perform things lovers do in their intimate moments. As the years go by, the more I embrace his defects. It is a thing of beauty that assures me, the feeling is ripe with sincerity.

That he could have always been the one.

It is this pervading thought that hounded me days before Valentines' Day. A friend had just confessed his innermost fears one early morning. That with all the wounds he had collected searching for romance, he doubts ever finding happiness again. I would have hugged him at the spot, if not for the digital conversation. Craning my neck to look at my empty bed, thoughts of the Weatherman emerges. His wry smile every time I speak narratives of the past pressed me to make the belated reversals. What if, after all these years he had given up on me, he has resigned to the idea that nobody will accept his imperfections. 

That he is bound to grow old alone, misunderstood, with so many chances to fall in love lay wasted because he no longer have faith in it?

It is this desire to counter this make-belief assumptions that led me to act impulsively once more. A week before the events of February 14, I went all the way south at 6 in the morning to surprise him with a pot of Lemon Grass. He mentioned looking for one the last time he stayed at my place, and being the pleaser that I am, I saw to it that he received it, no matter the personal toll. He was elated of course, and all morning, we were exchanging SMS about showing me the wonders of his new realms. If not for the uncalled tweet about the ex and his lies (and that vow to never let anyone get close again), the Weatherman's mood would have never soured, and the very public social media tagging would go on, to the curiosity of observers.

Regardless, the plan has been set and all I wanted was his unconscious permission. And so on the eve of Valentine's Day, I let my thoughts in the open and posted a tweet that would, in my deepest prayers, get intercepted by the intended receiver:

Just give me the sign, and I will be your Valentines.
— MugenBear (@tr1pnautic) February 12, 2015

- tobecontinued