I stared at your face, that one night — the last night we spent together. It’s not as if I’m not going to see you again. It’s just that, I felt what was coming. I guess I’ve preempted another turmoil.

It was one of those nights we spend together, sitting inside your car, talking about life in general. You rested your head on my lap and I touched your face. I was looking at you, as if examining. I was holding you, staring at your chiseled jaws, your thin lips, the dark circles beneath your eyes. I was moved. I don’t know for how long did I look at you. I just remember feeling nostalgic for nothing in particular. A wave of both pleasure and sadness seeped through me.


I asked myself why I felt such. The feeling that something not so good was about to happen stuck to me. I felt like that was one of those nights wherein we’re in a good mood. But we know very well that good things must come to an end. And so, like every good moment we have, life screws us up and we sulk listening into a seemingly unending hymn of sadness.

I remember looking at your face, holding it, feeling extremely grateful that you’re mine. However, I also remember feeling that sadness, the fear that all these might be gone too soon. I was staring at you, feeling like it’d be the last time I would. I don’t know why. I just did.

Remembering how I saw you through that dark night made me feel like saying goodbye. As if I should have said goodbye to you that night. But I didn’t. I didn’t because I was hoping it was just a feeling.

Was it?