Chère nouvelle fille:

For the last time–

I have forgotten how you say your most common expressions. I have forgotten how that birthmark in your neck looked like. I have forgotten how dark the circles under your eyes were or how protruded your supraorbital ridge is. I have forgotten how your hand looked like. I have forgotten your voice — which is funny because I can easily recall it if I just listen to the covers you made for me. I have forgotten how you wrote, how you spoke, how you moved, how you cried.I have forgotten the silly faces you made that I used to call you out for. I have forgotten how long you prayed before meals or how often we talked and argue or how long our drives were. I have forgotten how worried you were when that BMW bike hit your car. I have forgotten how you looked that time we went to the infirmary and you needed to have blood extracted. I have forgotten what was the song we always sang to on our way home. I have forgotten how you smelled or when you stopped using CK because you kept associating it with that stupid party. I have forgotten the jokes you made, if your laugh was loud or quiet. I have forgotten how you smiled. I have forgotten the details of our many firsts — that night we first attended UP Fair, that night we both first saw a shooting star, that first time we talked, the intimate moments, the first time we spent the night together.

In all fairness, I remember some things. Like the violet polo shirt I hated and the many plaid shorts you wore that I also didn’t like. I remembered most of your clothes, actually. Not that I do know if you still use them. I remember how we watched each other sleep over Skype. Or those moments (if I may call it as such) in your car parked in Area 2. I remember the late nights we spent after going out to a party. Or that February 14 under the night sky, with you serenading me and how I went home with that blue and white aztec hoodie you gave that ended up in your cabinet again. I remember the time I told you that if we break up, I won’t go into another relationship again and how you assured me of the same thing. I remember the time you told me you wanted to end up with me and how two years after, you said you don’t see me that way anymore.

I remember those moments because they were mine. I remember them but I don’t remember you.

But she’s making it hard for me to forget. So for the many times you wrote and thought about me and how inconsiderate people can get by still linking me those entries when I have refused to read them for a thousand times, I hope you hear me out.

To you:

Please don’t mind me. Please quit thinking about his past because we may have shared something but that’s long over. The bride and groom of the wedding we attended already have a baby who’s about to turn one. See, even if I tell you I still haven’t completely moved on, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because I am not the type of person who would reach out and try to be friends with him again knowing the danger in doing so. I wouldn’t ruin what you have, if that’s the assurance that you need.

I need you to stop bringing me up, to stop making me feel that you’re bothered, that I somehow still matter because that makes me restless. That sparks something inside me — all the questions that I don’t want to hear out. I want to completely move on. I don’t like being dragged on to my past.

Let me give an unsolicited advice (seeing that I already wrote quite a lengthy entry than what I originally intended): if he doesn’t bring me up, then be contented. I don’t think he would cause that’s not him to bring up the past not unless you force him to do so. Save yourself from reading all my entries because 1) you would always take it as it is or you listen to him and think of my side of story as lies, (you are free to do so as long as it makes you feel secured); 2) I decided to stop talking to him a long time ago to heal my self and I have no intentions of hurting myself again; 3) you actually have no idea which of my posts are still about him. My world stopped revolving around him more than a year ago and I’ve had my fair share of heartaches from different people so please, please, stop interpreting things. What I wrote about him holds true for me but maybe not for you nor for him. And it doesn’t need to be. People change. So don’t let my entries deceive you or make you doubt or whatsoever. They need not to. (I mean seriously girl you have to stop making a big deal out of little things. I can tell you our story but it’s not nice (at least based on my experience) to keep learning about your boyfriend’s past. It’s irrelevant of your relationship.)

It’s probably me giving back; I don’t know. My exes’ exes have been way too nice to not disrupt my relationships and that made things easier for me. So I hope one day, we end up not writing about each other anymore because these things don’t matter. You are at peace in your relationship without any hints from the past. And I am at peace with my present. I hope one day I’ll be gone from your space — that you will not bother to think about me or our story because you are genuinely fine with where you are. (And I wish the same for myself.)

I am trying to forget many many things that I still remember. For one thing I’m thankful for I have forgotten how we loved.

And to be honest, I don’t like to remember. So if you please, stop making it hard for all of us.


La ex-copine.