Like we used to

I started the day uneventfully, milling around, horse playing with my officemates, dealing with menial jobs one task at a time. In the afternoon I hung out, nursing my stale coffee, and wait for the time to pass by. On days where my job required overtime, I normally hang out in the pantry, stuffing myself with junk foods and doing my tasks in a half-assed manner.

On most days, however, I feel like productivity has hit me like a freight train. I wake earlier than usual, and spend the day completing tasks ahead of schedule, like my mind and body telling me to get busy. My mug never runs out of coffee. And when my officemates decide to hang out, sometimes I go with them, for the sake of camaraderie.

Before, I would survive these kinds of nonsense; I don’t know if I could do the same thing anymore.

Idly I wondered what he’s doing right now. Is he surviving the usual trivialities of work? Is he eating street foods again? Did he fall into his movie marathon binges again? Does he sleep later than the usual? Is he meeting someone new?

A sharp stab of pain in my heart broke my thoughts.

Oh well, I thought bitterly. I couldn’t care less, okay? It’s not like I’m fussing over him the way I used to do. Shaking off my temporary insanity, I focused on the figures in my computer. These numbers are taunting me just because I hate math.

Oftentimes when I grumbled about my eternal hatred in math, he would laugh it off.

Stupid me, I chastised myself. I could get myself teary-eyed for just a simple reminder. Last week I was about to throw the things he gave me away. But I chose to keep it hidden in the attic. I would later revisit it and consider if some things are still worth keeping.

When my shift ended, I feigned on focusing my attention on my monitor. One of my officemates invited me to drink at a bar not far from our building before they went out, but I lied, saying that I have work to finish.

She commented on my lame excuse as an escape of moping around. I said no. There isn’t anything to mope around anymore.  And I’m not definitely going there.

We broke up in a most bizarre manner – we just drifted apart, and we didn’t bother to figure out which one of us would take the shot and call it quits. And what pains me more is that when I confirmed it, he shrugged and just said sorry. I took it as a sign that he doesn’t want to go on, or go to where we were a few months back. After that, I haven’t heard from him since.

The funny thing is, even in the most inane things reminded me of him.

Feeling ashamed of myself, I shrugged out my feelings of loss counted with fatigue and shut off the monitor. It’s no use putting up a fight with numbers, because numbers hated me too.

Getting out of the office, I wandered aimlessly since I don’t have a reason to go home early. Probably my officemates are still in the bar they told me that they were going to, but I’m not in the mood to pull up a face of pretentiousness. I might even punch a guy in our department for shamelessly flirting with me.

Right now, I view men as players. Not that I’m generalizing or what, but you know how women react when they got heartbroken – like men consider love as a game. I’ll just let these irrational thoughts slide. Over time, I might find someone who might see me as I am, not just a part of a stupid dare that my stupid feelings gladly took.

Love really has a way to make smart people fools.

At least I got to stew before I head home, though. I didn’t know where I’m headed to, but I know that I don’t want to go home yet. Wandering around, I took in the sights and sounds of the city until I stared at a familiar face.

He greeted me, trying his best to stave off the awkwardness hovering around us. I returned it with a smile. And then I realized that I ended up by his apartment.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were living three blocks from here?” He asked. “Yes, but I took a detour. I don’t want to go home yet,” I shrugged, yet I wanted to ask him the questions brewing in my mind right now.

Do you miss me? Why aren’t we talking anymore? Can’t you see how much miserable I am?

He seemed to be taken aback with my answer, then he quickly regrouped. “If you don’t mind, I could come with you. We could stop at a restaurant over there, talk for a while.”

I considered it, since this heartbroken girl in me wanted to run into his arms once again. But the sensible side of me shut her up. I guess he’s fine now, and that he’s moved on.

Once, I convinced myself to show up on his apartment door and try to talk to him just because. Now, I don’t even think of doing so.

“No thanks, you must be tired from today. Nice seeing you, by the way.” I smiled, but my heart breaking again inside. How stupid of me not to talk to him when opportunity knocks on my door.

But then again, my feelings might not be ready. But in time, I will be.

Hello everyone! This is the (self-proclaimed) much-awaited songfic that I have been hammering on since December last year, only these words materialized yesterday in the middle of nowhere.

By the way, this is the longest of my song fictions though; this baby materialized after Charlie Puth’s collaboration with Selena Gomez’s We Don’t Talk Anymore from his album Nine Track Mind. I won’t plug it anymore though, since it’s been an earworm in the airwaves for the past year. But if you want to watch it, here’s the link: (thanks YouTube!).

Anyhow, I will hunt again for things that I could share – be it a movie, drama series, anime, song (or songfic), or any random thought that is the product of my flight of ideas. I’m so glad that I’m able to write something aside from poetry. As always, thanks for reading! Here’s to more randomness!


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