I still remember the first time I saw you. The exotic car that was captured in the frames of countless photos could not compare to your smile in the backdrop of the setting sun. It was a sunny Saturday afternoon in December that still felt like early summer, a scar emerging from behind the frame of your glasses, like brisk cool air flooding a warm room, I strangely found it beautiful, some kind of barren beauty.

I sat in the passenger seat with my favorite song playing on the radio, Autumn Leaves; you started to sing along to it with your gentle voice as I sat without words, as though time had frozen, captured on canvas as an illusion of perfection. I wanted to tell you that you looked beautiful with your sharp-looking and well-fitted suits, but I was too hopeless to say such words of kindness less I disturb the tranquility and harmony of the scene. Then you slightly turned your head towards me, telling me of the time you had fallen short on a bet and sang in the crowd with your guitar at your side, the girls’ eyes staring into your own. You sounded so familiar yet so strange, like a long lost friend, like a stranger bumped into me with one of my favorite books in your hand and stared at me in my eyes. The air was alight with tension, leaving me confused and dazed.

You are the luscious Tiramisu cake in the French restaurant at Laguna Beach delighting my heart; you are the shinning, breathe-taking, twinkling stars in the dessert of Joshua Tree Park blinding my eyes; you are the beautifully written heartbreaking poetry book at The Last book store effortlessly shaking me to my core; and you are the rushing roaring ferocious wind at 10:00 pm outside of Pasadena City Hall blowing my face.

I remember the way your hands touched my waist, the gentle touches like feathers falling on my skin; I remember the way I curled up in your arms at the back of your car in the dark, the warmth was so overwhelming it was almost toxic. I remember your gentle voice, your soft lips, your strong shoulders. I replayed the moments between us like playing a series of broken records in the sleepless nights, in the fear of losing one single segment. Yet all records end in perpetual silence that descends into the void.

You see, I am just jealous because you are more in love with the society than you ever are with me, spending almost all your time chasing it, pleasing it, analyzing it and turning it into your platform to instill values. I am jealous because whenever I feel like getting lost in the pool of your eyes, you just teach me how to bear with the hole in my soul in the loneliest gesture.

And I never mentioned that after said our goodbyes I turned around, your silhouette was slowly getting smaller with each step, bringing me to the verge of tears, all because I hoped against hope that you would turn and say, “Please stay.”

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