Unfinished Song

by Den-den Legaspi Tolentino | shared on He Said, She Said |

As I sit on my bed listening to a sad song I’ve been replaying for a while now, I wonder.

I wonder if you ever have moments like this, too. Moments when you feel like your insides are slowly disintegrating but you have no words for the pain, that’s why you keep listening to a particular sad song because the lyrics are exactly what your mind and heart want to say but somehow your mouth fails to utter. And whenever you find yourself in moments like this, I wonder if you ever think of me, too.

Because there’s not a split second that I don’t think of you.

I think of you when a happy song plays. I think of the whopping exhilaration brought by the midnight deep talks we had. I think about how our eyes would meet and how we never said a word about it but both knew that there was something magical going on. I think of you, when like a drum, all the happy memories syncopatingly beat with the song.

I think of you when a sad song starts playing. I think of the time you decided it was all over, how I spoke as if I was talking to someone when truth is no one was really answering me on the other line. How I chose to write down what I really felt instead of calling you and telling you about it, because you didn’t want to answer my calls anymore. I think of you when a sad song starts drawing all the sad memories, burning holes in my chest.

I think of how the songs, both happy and sad, start and end; and how things — just like songs – have its intro, all the elements in between, and its extro.

I think of you . . .

I think of us . . .

And if there is one thing that I think about more than I think of you, perhaps it’s the throbbing and frigid truth: our love was an unfinished song.


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