after that short moment, we bade goodbye to each other and separated ways. that was the first time and will probably be the only time that I'd write a letter of confession to somebody (embarrassing, really). I didn't want to lose him but his gestures told me it wasn't me whom he likes. it didn't take me much time to realize that though.
I walked home thinking, hoping, and at the same time unsuccessfully trying to move on from what i thought was something that's impossible to happen - a usual daydream which'd never ever be actualized in my living memory.
I didn't know how i felt or what to feel at that very moment during my isolation. Should i feel happy for being relieved? Should i feel sad because I have somewhat envisaged the final chapter of the book? Should i be mad at him for remaining quiet and keeping the answer to himself? I don't know.
I hadn't (or should i say, wasn't able to) sleep that night spending time thinking about what'd meet me in the succeeding sunrises.
In order to outrun awkwardness, i wrote in the letter a sort of condition so he need not to express himself much to me since i am perfectly knowledgeable that he's not an overly expressive individual. In this condition lies only 2 things for him to air out his single decision - by giving me the paper folded, it'd mean he treats me more than a friend, otherwise, if crumpled, it'd mean he thinks friendship is best for both of us. I also told him maybe i got this sort of crazy idea from excessive television viewing. I don't know what struck me but even before he could come up with a decision ---
I told him to give me back the letter I'd given him so I could burn it together with my memory of having given it to him - but until now he's keeping it. He said there'd come a time when he'll be passing it back to me.
I thought, maybe, that'd be the time when he's courageous enough to break my broken heart. Pathetic.
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