I wrote this when I was ‘past the point of no return’ and started noticing that I still liked the things he liked even after we broke up. I know some of my friends hate certain things simply because these remind them so much of their exes. I saw myself not hating these things at all, no matter how much I wanted to, if only to forget him.
Would it matter if I still love the things you made me love?
I still love the coffee down at the bakery where we used to share a cup. I still love the book you bought me at the thrift bookstore when I didn’t have enough money. I still love the film you made me watch because you said it was amazing. If I still love the things I associate with you, then does that make me still love you?
I found a place that serves better, and I mean way better, coffee than that bakeshop. I bought a book and have actually read it more than a couple of times. I watched a film that made me laugh, cry, and love my life even more when I got out of the cinema. But I still love the things you love, does that make me still love you?
Would it matter if I still love the things you made me love? Maybe. Maybe not.
I’m with good company, if ever you’re wondering. Nope? Oh, my bad.
For the next seven days, I’ll be posting my shelved written works, both flash fictions and poems, here in my blog. I’ve written them a couple of years ago when I wasn’t emotionally sober. Now that I’ve edited most of them, I’m feeling kind of confident in showing them to the public. Operative word is ‘feeling’. I’m not entirely sure. But, oh well.
Tell me what you think about them, will you?
Here is my attempt at flash fiction. I hope you guys enjoy. 🙂
I saw a couple in the tea house earlier; a young couple. Maybe senior college students. They sat in front of each other. The girl was shaking her large honeydew milk tea. The guy followed suit with his chocolate milk tea. The girl wasn’t in her element. The guy noticed that, too. So he tried to do smalltalk with her.
Well, it wasn’t working. The guy was asking the wrong kind of questions. The girl had the chance to answer either a yes or a no. And she did. Then, the girl made a great deep sigh.
“Where do you think are we going?”, she said.
“I thought you were planning on an out of town trip with your parents?”
“No, this, us.”
The guy had nothing to say. He was getting fidgety on his seat. He tried to make eye contact with the girl but all she could do was stare into the marble tiles. The guy tried to tell something. He was mustering the courage to say something. But he didn’t have enough guts to say it out loud. He left. No stomping or theatrical walkouts. He just left, graciously.
The girl was left staring at the blankness of the floor.
The girl is me.